


Landslide 2 (I took my love)

by KeepingTheStarsApart



Series: The Landslide Series [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: BAMF Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Brother-Sister Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Minor Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair, Multi, Panic Attacks, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22532650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeepingTheStarsApart/pseuds/KeepingTheStarsApart
Summary: If anyone would bother to ask Billy how he’s currently doing at life, he would say: Moving from one low point to the next with as much dignity as possible, thanks.Today’s new low happens like this: After school, Billy has an hour to kill before it’s time to pick up his little sister (who has not spoken a single word to him since last night) from detention. That alone is sad enough, but Billy doesn’t spend said hour smoking behind the gym or buying booze in that one shop that doesn’t check ID or getting off with his boyfriend. No, instead he goesgrocery shoppingwith his boyfriend, because they’re out of Froot Loops.---In which Max is still taking no one’s shit; Billy is doing much better but also much worse, depending on who you ask; and Steve is gonna start charging for all this free counseling he's doing any day now, thanks very much.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: The Landslide Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620988
Comments: 42
Kudos: 133





	1. well i've been afraid of changing

**Author's Note:**

> Has it been 7 months since the premiere of Stranger Things 3? Yes, yes it has.   
> Did I get over it yet? No, absolutely not.  
> Am I still vaguely obsessed with Billy, Max and Steve? You betcha I am, which is how we got here.
> 
> Welcome back all you beautiful people! After months of collecting random scenes and little tidbits of dialogue, I finally have enough material to connect the dots and find enough plot in there to post a sequel to Landslide. So it's a series now, hooray. (If you haven't read the first installment of this series, I'm afraid this story won't make too much sense.)
> 
> Some warnings: there is still cursing and drinking and smoking and all that stuff, plus one or another panic attack, so watch out if you're sensitive to that. Also, beware of the overuse of italics and the word _fucking_.
> 
> All the titles are once again Fleetwood Mac lyrics, because I thought I'd stick with the theme.

"You're late. Again."

Max stills in the doorway, halfway through kicking her shoes off, and looks at him weirdly.

"Sorry?" she goes, without sounding sorry at all. "Won't happen again."

She’s spent the afternoon at the Sinclair’s, and Billy’s only comfort on that front is that he has _met_ Erica and knows that there’s no way she’d leave them alone long enough for Lucas to make much of a move on Max. 

Still.

"That's what you said last time. But dinner's cold, _again_." 

Vaguely, Billy registers that he sounds like an angry, over-dramatic housewife, but they've got a deal, goddammit.

Max sighs and walks over, pats him on the chest patronizingly.

"Well, that's what we've got the microwave for. I don't see what the big deal is, honestly."

If he’s being completely honest, Billy is not entirely sure what the big deal is, either. (The only reason he ever abided by any curfews at all, was because he knew his father would fuck him up for missing them. Billy and Max are past that kinda shit.) All he knows is that they’re supposed to have dinner together at a quarter past seven. Billy cooks and Max does the dishes. That’s how they’re doing things now; that’s just how it is.

Unfortunately, _that’s just how it is_ probably won’t work well as an argument against Max, who is not known to be swayed by somebody else’s truth. 

Billy crosses his arms over his chest and stalks after his sister, who’s proceeded to the kitchen and is peaking into the fridge. 

“What d’you make? Ooh, is that Lasagna?”

"Vegetable lasagna,” Billy corrects and Max pulls a face. “Listen, we talked about this. On school nights, I want you home by seven."

Max's mood changes from completely unbothered to pissed-off in a matter of seconds. She shuts the fridge door with a bang.

"I believe we also talked about how you're my _brother_ and not my prison guard. I don't have to constantly listen to you, Billy, you're not my mom."

"And you're free to not listen to your mom when she gets home on the weekend, but during the week you’re my responsibility. We have rules for a reason, remember?"

_We have routines_ , he wants to add in a shout, _and you've been blowing them up completely!_

"Yes, I remember the main reason being to prevent _you_ from abusing your position of power, which is exactly what you're doing right now!"

"It's not! Jesus, Max, I'm just trying to look out for you,” Billy snaps, probably not sounding very caring, but he couldn’t care less. “And either way, it matters jack shit what you or me want, because fact is, you’re mom left _me_ in charge. Me. _You_ are still a child and you need some fucking structures, period."

"Oh, please, we both know it's not me who needs the structures," Max says bitingly, and walks away.

Great.

They avoid each other for half an hour, during which Max first bangs around her room and then the kitchen, while Billy watches TV in the living room on high volume. Some might say he was sulking, but that’s obviously bullshit.

During a commercial break on Miami Vice, Max edges halfway into the room and leans against the door frame. She’s eating reheated lasagna off of a plate she’s holding up in front of her face.

"This is pretty good," she mumbles around a mouthful, because she’s gross like that.

_It'd better be good_ , Billy thinks, _I skipped last period to go to the store and get some greens into you_.

Max sighs, and walks over to sit down right next to him with her plate in her lap. She nudges Billy's shoulder with hers.

"Did I ever tell you 'bout this one psychology article Dustin showed me? He found it in the library. It talked about how structures and daily routines are like, super important for people with trauma and behavioral issues."

It's Max-speak for _I'm sorry_ and Billy wants to tell her that the stupid routines aren't worth shit when she's not around to keep the darkness at bay. Instead, he grabs her fork out of her hand and steals a bite of lasagna. 

"You're a brat."

Max snorts quietly. "So are you. Probably a family thing, huh?"

She lets Billy steal another bite and tips her head down to rub her cheek against his shoulder a little.

God, Billy wants to hate her so badly.

Max has always been a feisty little bitch, which is actually one of the reasons Billy respects her so much, but for about a month now, she’s been almost unbearable. They’re fighting _constantly_. Neil might be gone now (or at least close to being gone – the asshole’s out on bail until his trial in May, but until then he’s living in Indianapolis and they’ve got a restraining order), but Billy is still very much stuck watching out for Max. Right at the beginning of January, the bureau Susan worked at transferred her to another branch with longer and better-paid hours. That way she can compensate a little for the loss of Neil’s income, but it also means she’s staying in Chicago during the week. 

And the thing is, Billy wouldn’t even mind that much – taking care of his little sister comes much more naturally when Neil’s not forcing him to – if only _Max_ didn’t seem to mind so much. It’s not that Billy expected them to have the perfect life all of a sudden. School still sucks, he does way more cooking than he ever wanted to and then there’s the fucking trial. Plus, Billy and Max are still Billy and Max; it was never going to be sunshine and daisies with the two of them. But for a couple months there, right after New Year’s, it was _good_. They were a team, and they built a new normal without their parents around. 

But then Max decided to turn fourteen and take it as incentive to take the ‘mad’ in Madmax literally. Like, even more so than before. Steve says she's hitting puberty, which is all fair and shit, but that’s not Billy’s fault, is it? Still, Max gets mad at about everything he does these days, even when all he’s trying to do is get them from Monday to Friday without anyone dying. And just let it be known that fighting with Maxine Mayfield is more stressful and exhausting than any professional workout. 

So yeah, Billy would love to be able to hate Max, but in few, in-between moments like this, she’ll be sweet and supportive as shit. Just like she was in December. So.

Max pinches his forearm. “Hey, dumbass, still in there?”

Unfortunately, he is.

Billy hands back her fork and gently pushes her face off his shoulder. “Eat, you little pain in my ass. No starving on my watch.”

“Aw,” Max coos, full of sarcasm.

\---

Their fragile peace lasts for one and a half days. On Friday, Max dumps the Sinclair kid's ass for the fourth time this year. 

The first time it happened, all the way back in January, Max was really sad about it. So sad, in fact, that she teared up a little after dinner that night and promptly got some good distraction out of having to wrestle Billy away from the door to stop him from going after Lucas.

The second time, Billy hardly even noticed, because that break-up lasted all of seven hours.

By the third time, just over a month ago, Max had long caught onto the fact that Lucas would always come crawling back, and spent a significant time laughing about the stupid look on his face.

This time, however, Max is royally pissed. And guess who gets to take the brunt of that?

Exactly.

After spending all afternoon being short and bad-tempered and exceptionally bratty, Max retires to the sofa. Billy should (and really wants to) leave her alone. It’s only the knowledge that, somewhere deep, _deep_ down, Max is probably hurting a lot that makes Billy join her in the living room.

He sits down next to her and drops a Mars Bar into her lap as a cautionary bribe.

"D'you wanna talk about it?"

Max looks at him as though he suggested she pull her toenails out one by one. "Yeah, sure, let's braid each other's hair and talk about our feelings. Fuck off."

"Calm the fuck down. You're the one who always says we need to talk about shit."

"Yes, shit like your father's _child abuse trial_ being only a month away. Not my ex-boyfriend being the world's greatest dumbass! You're currently coming in a close second on that title, by the way."

"Wow, you're mean," Billy acknowledges, mildly impressed (but no longer surprised at all) by her hostility. "Am I supposed to be proud or offended?"

" _Oh my god_ , I don't care!"

With that heart-felt sentiment, Max chucks the Mars Bar at Billy and storms off seething.

If dramatic storm-offs were an Olympic discipline, Max would win gold.

"Teenagers," Billy sighs loudly.

"I heard that!" Max shouts from down the hall, "You are a teenager, too, you fucking dumbass!"

Nice.

\---

_I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues_ is playing on the car radio and Billy is going to barf.

“Are you going to change the station or do I have to?”

“What’s wrong with Elton John? This is a great song.”

“What’s wrong is that you’ve got the taste of an old lady.”

“Better the taste of an old lady than no taste at all,” Steve snarks back, but he does start to fiddle with the buttons until he finds a rock station. Then he turns the volume down. “What’s up with you today, grumpy?”

It's Saturday, which means Billy is free from his constant babysitting duty. Susan's home for the weekend as usual, and gets to spend quality time with her daughter. (That is when her daughter allows it. After the whole Neil fiasco, Susan wasn't charged with failure of rendering assistance , if only because Hopper deemed it sensible to keep at least one parent around in order to keep Max out of foster care. That does not, however, mean that Max has forgotten her mother’s involvement, or lack thereof, in Billy's ordeal. He takes some sort of sick pride in the fact that Max chose his side over her mom's.) 

Billy, on the other hand, gets to spend quality time with Steve. They drove the Beemer up to the quarry and are currently smoking weed. Usually, they’d be at Steve's fancy rich boy house, but for probably the first time since they started dating, Steve's parents are home. It's unprecedented - if the Harrington’s aren't travelling around Europe or China, they generally spend their weekends at fancy dinner parties in Indianapolis or Chicago. But today, they decided to stay home and host their own goddamn dinner party for some work people, which is why Steve will have to be there in a fancy suit and talk to people he despises about things he has absolutely no interest in.

Billy only knows all of this because Steve has been ranting on and on about it until five minutes ago, when Billy pulled out the weed. He's calmed down now, and Billy decides to vent his own grievances while he's got the chance.

“Max is being a bitch,” he says. No use beating around the bush.

Steve clicks his tongue. “I really hate that word, Bill.”

“…Max is being a fucking brat.”

“Mh-hmm. You’ve been saying that a lot lately. What she do this time?”

_She’s always so mean to me_ sounds like the words of a five-year-old; Billy realizes that. Steve is a great listener and all, and he tends to understand Billy’s feelings better than he does himself, but Billy draws the line at making his boyfriend believe he’s dating some sulky little kid.

“Keeps coming home late,” he says, because that’s a more rational part of the problem. “Doesn’t call either, just misses dinner, by, like, an hour, and then acts like it’s no big deal. Drives me crazy.”

“I never would’ve thought you’d become such a stickler for rules.” Steve tries to hide his snicker by taking a drag of their shared blunt and promptly starts coughing. Billy would be more concerned if he hadn’t just been laughed at.

“Just – do not tell me I’m a hypocrite, alright? Max does that enough already. And I mean I get it… but why does this have to be so fucking hard?”

“I think maybe you both still need some more time to get used to… everything. I mean… nothing about your situation is usual. There’s no textbook method, here, I think.”

Billy tips his head back and gestures wearily. "I don't even know why I care so much. Max is right - I hate rules. Hell… don’t tell her I said that."

"Well, I think it's obvious."

"Oh yeah?" Billy snaps his fingers for the blunt. "Share your wisdom with me, pretty boy, why don't you."

Steve rolls his eyes, but he does hand it over. "Well, apart from the fact that you got attached to Max in the matter of, like, three weeks," he starts out and holds up a hand when Billy immediately begins to protest. "No use denying it, babe. Apart from that, right now is the first time in forever that you have a stable and functioning home life. And of course you’d want to keep it that way."

Billy almost snorts. "Very funny. We're nowhere near functioning, Steve. Last night we had cornflakes for dinner. And all my socks are pink because Max keeps adding red shirts and shit to our whites."

"I'm not talking about household stuff, of course you guys would suck at that," Steve says and plucks the blunt right out from between Billy's lips. "I'm talking about an emotional level, here. You know, feeling _safe_ , and appreciated. And there's always someone on your team, who’s got your back when you need it. I’m thinking your newfound enthusiasm for rules and routines is your unconscious way of trying to hold on to that."

"Max makes me feel a lot of things, but appreciated is not one of them,” Billy grumbles, entirely ignoring that last part, because Steve looks way too proud of himself. “Telling me in colorful words how much I suck is basically the only form of communication she’s still capable of when it comes to me.”

"You’re exaggerating,” Steve sighs. He takes one last drag and puts the blunt out in the ashtray. “And why do you always have to denounce everything I'm saying even when I'm _clearly_ right?"

"Because I hate it when you're right," Billy grumps and Steve's expression softens immediately.

"Aw, babe. It'll be alright."

He reaches over to pull Billy halfway across the center control, until Billy's head rests on his shoulder. Billy doesn't even care that it's hella uncomfortable, because Steve smells pretty amazing, even though he'll never say that out loud.

After a beat of silence, Billy says, "I also hate when you call me babe."

He can feel Steve's shoulder vibrate with quiet laughter. "No, you don't."

Billy doesn’t bother with a verbal answer; instead, he runs his nose up the other boy’s neck until he can press his mouth to the soft skin behind his ear. Billy grins when he feels goosebumps erupt on Steve’s neck. But then a hand slides between Billy’s mouth and Steve’s skin, and Billy’s not grinning anymore.

“Hey, no, no,” Steve says, voice just a tad high-pitched, “We’re not done talking yet. You know the deal, babe. Talk first, kiss later. Your emotional stability is more important than getting off, and I’m getting the feeling you’re really bothered by this Max thing.”

With an annoyed groan, Billy slides back into his own seat and crosses his arms over his chest petulantly. “That’s a really stupid rule, you know that, right?”

“No, but maybe now _you know_ how Max feels.”

Billy gapes at him. “Fuck off.”

“No, thanks. Okay. Let’s look at this whole thing rationally, from the beginning.”

“What _thing_?”

Steve waves his hand around. “You and Max’s relationship. Obviously.”

“Are you serious right now?” Billy says through gritted teeth. 

He would much rather be making out right now. _Dumb_ Steve with his _dumb_ concern for Billy’s feelings and his _emotional stability_. Ugh.

“Yeah, come on, work with me. Four months ago, you and Max were on pretty bad terms. Terrible terms, actually. Max wasn’t even speaking to you, remember?”

“Of course I remember, Steve, for fuck’s sake.”

“So you tried to make it better, but that was, you know, slow work. So what happened that made Max forgive you, and put you guys on the same team for the first time ever?”

The answer to that question is both simple and vaguely depressing. 

Billy rubs a hand over his face. “My dad put me in the hospital.”

"Exactly. Nothing brings people together better than a common enemy," Steve muses wisely and Billy gives him a look. Steve shrugs. "It's what Dustin told me when I had a small crisis about suddenly being friends with a couple of eight-graders."

"I know for me and Max you're talking about Neil, but what enemy do you have in common with the nerds, exactly?"

"Babe, come on. You know I can't talk about it.”

Billy accepts this with a grunt, but only because they've had this conversation multiple times and Steve simply will not budge. All he ever got out of him was that Little Byers stumbled onto that chemical leak at Hawkins Lab, and Steve and the nerds, eventually including Max, got mixed up in exposing that threat to the public. The government had them all sign some non-disclosure agreements in order to keep all the nasty details under wrap, and Steve is annoyingly devoted to those. 

Max, on the other hand, was a little easier to guilt trick into talking, because they live together and Billy makes her dinner (or at least something that passes for dinner) five times a week, so he also knows that the chemical leak wasn’t the only accident in need of covering up. According to Max, the lab did a bunch of horrible experiments on several animals, and the resulting mutations broke free and threatened to overrun the town. Apparently, Billy showed up at the Byers's house back in November just as the rugrats were preparing to fight those "creatures", but Billy doesn’t quite understand why that fight was up to a bunch of kids and their babysitter, and of course he _also_ knows that Max was absolutely lying through her teeth. 

But even as she did, the look on her face was so haunted, Billy thinks he might not even want to know the truth. And even if he does, he doesn't want to make Max tell him, if it frightens her so much. 

So instead he nags Steve, who doesn't tell him shit, but at least he doesn't lie and keeps his facial expressions under control.

"Hey," Steve snaps his fingers next to Billy's face. "I was on my way to making a very good point, you know. About you and Max."

“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening.”

“Okay, so, taking Neil down together put you and Max on same team all of a sudden, right?” 

“Common enemy,” Billy agrees, because that does make a lot of sense.

Steve nods eagerly. “And that gave your relationship, like, a turbo boost, right?”

“…I guess.” 

“And that’s great and all, but it also means you skipped a hell of a lot steps in between,” Steve concludes, once more looking mighty proud of himself, but right there, he’s lost Billy.

“Steps? What steps?”

“Jeez, no idea. But you went from _I can barely stand you_ , to _I’ll protect you with my life_ in the course of one night. I dunno what standard practice is, but that’s probably not it.”

“Yeah, sure, okay, but we were doing fine,” Billy argues, “The first couple months, when Susan first started her job in Chicago and we were on our own, we we’re doing _fine_.”

Steve hums. “Okay, this metaphor is gonna sound like shit but hear me out: I think January and February were kinda like, your honeymoon phase.”

“Our _what_ now?” Billy pulls a face.

“You know, like - everything was still fresh, you were still hurt, Max was really protective and you had this new-found appreciation for each other. And that all lasted for a while, but now you’ve established yourselves in your… I don’t know, in this _situation_ and you’re both remembering, like: hey, this person’s actually still pretty annoying. Like, sure, I don’t want anyone to kill them or anything, but that doesn’t mean _I_ can’t fight them on a daily basis.” 

Billy is stumped, and he would be lying if he said Steve’s metaphor didn’t go over his head a little bit. He’s really not good with all these emotional facets of everything. 

Steve shrugs apologetically. “Plus, you know, Max is fourteen now. You got yourself a full-blown, hormonal, female teenager in the house. I dunno what you were expecting.”

That argument, Billy understands. “Yeah, okay, she’s Madmax, she’s hitting puberty hard, everything’s either stupid or embarrassing, I get that. But why does she have to take it all out on _me_? What’d I do? She gets mad at _everything_ , even when I’m not even doing anything, even when I’m trying to be nice. Why doesn’t she care that we’re always fighting? And why the fuck does she think it’s okay to be nice once every blue moon, and then go back to being a bit – _fine_ , a brat – five minutes later? Where is the sense in that?”

Steve looks stumped now, too, which makes two of them. Fuckin’ great.

“Babe, I would love to explain to you the mysteries of the female psyche, but I’m really no expert. I get _you_ , but teenage girls – yeah, no. Maybe you should ask someone who has experience in that field.”

“Experience?”

“Yeah, you know, someone who’s actually _been_ a teenage girl.”

Steve catches Billy’s eye and Billy knows he’s thinking of Nancy. But yeah, no way in hell is that happening. Absolutely not.

“That is not happening. No way.”

“I figured,” Steve sighs. He does a lot of sighing when they have this kind of conversation, but he also seems weirdly into it, so Billy isn’t too concerned.

“Cool. Can we be done talking now?” With a playful wiggle of his eyebrow, Billy pushes a hand between Steve’s lower back and backrest of his seat, slides it beneath Steve’s shirt. “I really think there are much better things we could be doing.”

Steve bites his lips against the smile on them. “Fine. But only because I ran out of smart things to say about this.”

“Sure,” Billy agrees lowly, still running his hand over Steve’s skin, “I’m sure that’s the only reason.”

\---

Sunday after breakfast finds Billy in his room, smoking by the open window and reading up on his AP English assignment. It’s the only day of the week he gets to himself, and boy does he enjoy it. However, as he’s learned over many years, Billy’s luck just won’t let him enjoy anything for too long. 

A good half hour past noon, there’s a loud knock on his door. Max doesn’t wait for an answer, just comes in and walks right over. She drops Billy’s leather jacket in his lap, covering his book.

“Get going, asshole.”

Yeah. No.

“It’s Sunday, Max,” Billy says slowly, through gritted teeth. He shakes the jacket off and it drops to the floor. “There is only one rule for Sundays - do you remember it or do you need a refresher?”

“I’m not-“

“Alright, a refresher then. On Sundays, _you leave me alone_. So scram. Go set something on fire or whatever, I don’t care.”

“I promise I’ll set something on fire next week,” Max says icily, “But today is also the first Sunday of the month, which means you and Steve are taking us out for milkshakes and burgers, remember? It’s tradition. And I would really like to not be late this time.”

Shit. Billy does remember (now), but that doesn’t mean he’s in any way keen on it. He reaches up and grabs Max’s face in both his hands, squishing her cheeks together firmly. 

“Maxie, my little pumpkin,” he says sweetly, as if he were addressing a toddler who’s having trouble putting two and two together. “It can hardly be a tradition when we’ve only done it twice now, can it? That’s not how traditions work.”

Forcefully, Max pulls his hands off, but keeps her face close. Her smile is all kinds of threatening. “Well, we’re working on it becoming a tradition, aren’t we? We’re picking up Will up at a quarter to. I’ve taken your keys, so if you’re not in the car in two minutes, I’m driving.”

With that, she turns on her heels and storms off.

Seething, Billy grabs his jacket and runs after her.

(Max has to be wrestled away from the driver’s seat. Billy would like to blame it on puberty hormones or whatever shit is wrong with her, but it’s probably just Max being Max.)

They’re five minutes late, which Billy thinks is totally within reason, but of course Steve and the other three nerds are already waiting in the parking lot. Will, clearly uncomfortable with the vague hostility Billy and Max are emitting, is out of the car within seconds and basically sprints over to join the other boys. Billy and Max follow at a more dignified speed and Steve meets them halfway.

"Hey, Little Red," he says and winks at Max.

"Hey, Steve," she says back with a roll of her eyes, but she smiles.

As the kids start towards the diner, Billy leans in close to Steve's ear. "See?" he whispers, "You call her Little fucking Red and it's fine, but if I even say Maxie, it's like I didn't even speak."

Steve rolls his eyes with the same sort of exasperated fondness Max just did.

"Okay, let’s just forget all the profound things I said yesterday. Maybe she just hates you on principle 'cause you’re her brother."

"So what - she rightfully hates me for being an ass, I put in all the work to redeem myself, and now she hates me on principle?! That's hardly fair."

"Or maybe you're just overly sensitive.'

"Hey!"

"Yes, hey," somebody agrees, and they turn to see Dustin in the door to the diner. "Are you guys coming or what? We’re starving, Steve. _Starving_. Also, you’re the one with the money, so get a move on, please."

Because being ordered around by fourteen-year-olds is now a fixed part of his life, Billy trudges after Steve into the diner. The booth the rugrats chose can't be missed, because it’s easily the loudest one in the whole place.

"-come on Max, look at him!"

"He's miserable!"

"He's desperate!"

"He's _pining_ for you-"

"Mike, shut up, I am not! I am none of those things."

"Uh-huh, sure you're not, but do you realize that you're not helping your own case by saying that right now?"

"Dustin, I swear to god-"

"What the hell are you guys discussing right now and do I even want to know?" Steve cuts in, before gently shoving Dustin and Mike further into their bench so he can take a seat next to them.

Billy squeezes onto the other bench next to Max, who's got her jaw clenched and kinda looks like she's about to rip Mike's throat out and shove it down Dustin's.

"They're trying to get Max to take Lucas back," Will pipes up from where he's squished against the window next to the boy in question.

"Shut it, Will," Max huffs at once, and begins to rip her napkin to shreds. 

Billy knows that it's only their shared soft spot for Little Byers that keeps her from lashing out more. He also knows that she's long since forgiven the Sinclair kid and wants to take him back, but she's not gonna back down now in front of their whole group. Billy looks at Lucas, who's chewing his lips and stealing little sideways glances at Max, and feels sorry for the kid. 

Ah, damnit. 

"Well," he speaks up gravely, and they all look at him, "I think Max is doing just fine on her own. She'd be stupid to take back anyone who deserved to be dumped before.”

While Lucas gapes at him in betrayal, Max fixes him with a glare and balls up the reminder of her napkin.

"Oh, I'd be _stupid_ to?" she repeats menacingly, "You would just love it if I never dated anyone ever, wouldn't you?"

Billy shrugs. "'Course I would. You think I _like_ knowing you that whenever you're out with your friends you're also gonna be kissing your little boyfriend? Nah. Better this way."

Max's nostrils flare with fury.

"Well, just for your information, I can and will kiss my fucking boyfriend whenever and wherever the hell I want, and you can go ahead and shut up about it," she seethes, and then, as if to prove her point right then and there, she turns, grabs Lucas by the collar of his shirt and kisses him full on the mouth.

For the first time since they got here, their table is completely silent. Everybody is staring at Max, who in turn is inspecting her nails with pursed lips and blushing cheeks. Lucas just gazes into space with a dazed smile on his lips.

A nearby waitress uses the opportunity walk up and take their order. “What can I get you lot?”

Steve eyes the kids, the majority of which are still slack-jawed and not paying attention, and sighs.

“Okay, let me see… we’ll have three hamburgers, one without onions and one with extra fries, then four cheeseburgers, one without pickles, one with extra cheese and all of them with extra fries.”

The waitress is having trouble keeping up. She gives Mike, who has broken out of his temporal stupor and is now snickering heartily, the stink eye. “And to drink?”

“Milkshakes, please. Uh, three chocolate, two vanilla, one strawberry, and then one banana for the weirdo amongst us.”

“Hey!” Dustin complains, as the waitress walks away with her head shaking.

“He’s right, though,” Will grins, “No one in their right mind gets banana.”

“Oh yeah, well that’s rich coming from you, Mister basic-as-fuck- _vanilla_ -“

Annnd… they’re back to arguing as though nothing ever happened. Billy feels a leg press against his and looks up to share a half amused, half resigned look with Steve. Steve lets his eyes wander over Billy’s face, unbothered by the ongoing milkshake discussion all around them, and the look turns into something a little more suggestive. The pressure against Billy’s calf increases.

“Gonna head to the restroom,” Billy says gruffly, “Forgot to wash my hands.”

“Oh, damn, me too,” Steve plays along, even though not one little nerd is listening to a single word they’re saying.

A minute later, Steve has him pressed up against the wall of a tiny bathroom stall, arms bracketing Billy’s head as they kiss as quietly as possible.

“What was that for?” Billy whispers when they break apart to catch their breath, but he can’t keep the pleased smile off his face.

Steve grins back. “ _You_ just tricked Max into getting back together with Lucas.”

“No, no, pretty boy. You weren’t listing: I told her _not_ to get back together with him.”

“Uh- _huh_ ,” Steve goes, “You knew she would do the exact opposite of what you told her. And you used it to give her an out, so she could take Lucas back without losing face, even though you knew she’d get mad at you instead. You put her happiness before your own.”

“And you think that’s hot, do you?” Billy snorts. What a dork.

Steve traces one of Billy’s eyebrows with his thumb. “No. I think it’s _cute_.”

Billy blushes up to the roots of his hair. He can’t remember ever being called cute. He also can’t remember the last time a compliment made him blush. God, what is Steve doing to him?

“Well _I_ think it’s cute that you know everybody’s order by heart,” he teases, lowering his voice further when somebody walks past the restroom. 

Steve stills, waiting, but nobody comes in. Billy tries to pull him back in, but Steve resists.

“We should get back out there,” he murmurs against his Billy’s, “Can’t leave the poor waitress to deal with the kids for too long. They’ll get kicked out.”

Billy groans softly in frustration, head tipping back against the wall with a thunk. “God, I hate that you are such a babysitter.”

Steve shrugs good-naturedly. “Sorry, babe. Got a reputation to uphold.”

He presses one last kiss to Billy’s exposed neck before backing out of their stall with a cheeky wink and leaving the restroom. 

Billy is left there wishing they were still making out. Honestly - Max and the rest of the rugrats could trash the place for all he cares, if only Steve kept his lips somewhere on Billy’s body. 

\---

That evening, Billy is stuck at his desk in his room, frantically trying to finish an essay that he put off until last minute. To be fair, he did forget he’d be spending the afternoon with the rugrats. It’s been an hour since dinner curtesy of Susan, and Billy’s hand is starting to cramp with how quick he’s writing, when his door opens out of nowhere and Max wanders in. Again.

Twice in one day - seriously?

She takes a seat on his bed, puts a paper towel on her lap and calmly starts to peel a fucking tangerine. Billy turns in his chair to stare at her incredulously.

“Maxine,” he says lowly, drawing her name out in a way he knows sounds dangerous. 

She looks up from her fruit with a raised eyebrow. “William?”

“Why aren’t you hanging out with your mom?” he asks, working hard to keep his voice even. He’s really not in the mood and he hates it when she comes in without knocking. _Hates_ it.

Max scoffs. “She was trying to teach me how to use her sewing machine.”

“So what, you didn’t feel like it and thought, _hey, let me just go annoy Billy_ , cuz you’re not already doing that all through the week?”

Max gives him an innocent smile. “I live to annoy you, didn’t you know that?”

“I knew,” Billy says darkly.

“You gonna kick me out?”

He really wants to say yes, but Max doesn’t seem particularly angry right now, which is something he should probably enjoy while it lasts. He turns back to his work.

“Not if you stay quiet. I really have to finish this by tomorrow.”

He fully expects Max to talk back and give him an excuse to make her leave. She can hide from her mom in her own room. But to his surprise, she stays silent. After a minute, Billy get suspicious. When he looks over his shoulder, Max has abandoned her peeling task and is shifting curiously through some of the magazines and papers on Billy’s bed.

He growls and flings a pencil at her. It hits her on the shoulder.

“Hands off, shitbird. Ever heard about privacy?”

“Have _you_?” Max chucks the pencil back but misses by an inch. She goes back to fiddling with the tangerine, cheeks pink. “Just for your information, I know exactly what you did today at the diner. With me and Lucas. I’m not stupid, you know.”

Billy snorts meanly. “Coulda fooled me, pumpkin.”

Max lazily flips him the bird, then scrunches up her nose. “I really don’t appreciate being manipulated.”

“Didn’t hear you complain today when you were holding hands with Lucas under the table.”

“Fuck off. Don’t do it again, do you hear me?”

That is probably the closest thing to a _thank you_ he’s gonna get. He really feels like complaining about what an ungrateful brat Max is being. 

“Sure,” he says instead, because he really doesn’t have time for a full-blown fight right now. “Consider me one hundred percent uninvested in your middle school relationship drama. Just don’t come crying to me the next time you dump him.”

“Fuck you, too,” Max says. 

Then she gets up, walks over and hands him half of her freshly peeled tangerine. So there’s that.

\---

A couple days later, on Wednesday evening, Billy's talking to Steve on the phone. Because that's something he can _do_ nowadays. Billy can call his boyfriend from the house telephone without having to be scared of his father catching him and beating him up for being a fag. It's awesome.

Of course, he does have to keep an ear out for Max (who probably wouldn't beat him up but cannot know either way), but she's in her room listening to Cyndi Lauper and probably won't come out unless it's absolutely necessary.

"You're off after sixth period tomorrow, too, aren't you?" Steve is saying, "Wanna come over after? We could make something for lunch."

"Yeah? You're gonna cook for me, pretty boy?" Billy all but purrs into the receiver.

"If you have time," Steve say back evenly, but Billy can hear the smile in his voice. "Max is having lunch at the Wheeler's tomorrow, isn’t she?"

"I think so... Hold on, I'm gonna check." He sticks his head into the hall. "HEY, Maxie?"

The music pouring from her room stops, but there is no response. Fucking-

"Come _on_ , Maxie, I'm on the phone!"

Steve is snickering into his ear. "Maybe she'll answer if you ditch the pet name."

_Huh, you think_? Steve ain't seen nothing yet.

"Hey, PUMPKIN," Billy shouts through the house, "I need a word!"

"You're doing it on purpose," Steve notes, the little genius, "No wonder she's always ignoring you. I would, too, in her place."

"I'm just teasing-" Billy starts, but at that moment Max appears in the threshold after all, arms crossed over her chest, looking pissed.

"My red hair does not justify the comparison to a fucking pumpkin, _goldilocks_ ," she says, vaguely disgusted, "What do you want?"

Billy covers the receiver with his hand. "You're catching a ride with Nancy after school tomorrow, right? And having lunch at the Wheeler's with the rest of the nerds?"

"Oh," Max says, and it's all she says. She locks her arms together a little tighter and makes a complicated face that Billy doesn't like at all.

Without taking his eyes off Max, he pulls his hand away from the receiver. "I'm gonna have to call you back."

He hangs the phone up and very deliberately goes to sit at the kitchen table. Max, visibly reluctant, follows him into the room. She leans her back against the counter, biting her lip. Jeez.

Billy gestures tiredly. "Let's hear it, shitbird."

"I can't go with Nancy and Mike tomorrow."

'Course she can't. The one afternoon Billy could make some good use of Max being at a friend’s house. Typical.

"Why not?" he demands.

Max shrugs sheepishly. "Cuz they're leaving after sixth period."

"Yeah. So?"

"Well, I'm not done after sixth period."

"Yeah you are, tomorrow's Thursday." Billy squints to where a copy of Max's timetable is pasted to the fridge. "On Thursdays we both finish after sixth period."

"Well, not tomorrow."

"For fuck’s sake, will you just spit it out already?"

She pulls a face. "I might have gotten detention."

"Seriously? What _for_?"

"Doesn't matter."

Billy raises an eyebrow. "Well which teacher gave it to you?"

"Miss Davies," Max mumbles, eyes on everything but Billy.

" _Seriously_?" he repeats. "Miss Davies is probably the nicest, most fair teacher at that whole school - and that's coming from _me_! What on earth did you do to make _her_ give you detention?”

“I told you, it doesn’t matter. It’s none of your business.”

“ _Max_.”

“Fuckin- Fine! Fine!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up, “I wasn’t feeling great this morning and she kept asking me what was wrong and it was fucking annoying so I told her to mind her own damn business. I know that was stupid, I don’t need you telling me that, so don’t even try. And you, of all people, are not allowed to get angry at me for getting detention, because that would just be… that would be _so_ -“

"I'm not angry that you got detention,” Billy interrupts, “I'm angry that I'm gonna be stuck waiting to drive your sorry ass home, when I had plans."

Well. He was about to have plans, but it still counts.

"So?! You don't have to cancel your plans. Do whatever you want, I'll be just fine. It's detention, not prison. Jeez."

"And how do you think you're getting home?"

"I’ll skate! Duh!”

Billy grits his teeth against the insults threatening to spill out. "Did you miss the weather report tonight? It's supposed pour tomorrow. You're gonna be soaked and get sick and I don't want that on my conscience.”

At that, Max laughs. It sounds cruel. "Oh, that's funny. Weren't you the guy who constantly threatened to make me skate home? Can't remember you having much of a conscience back then."

Billy deflates at once. "Don't do that, Max."

"Do what?!"

"Throw my past in my face!"

"Your _past_?” she repeats incredulously, “It hasn't even been half a year! People don't change that quickly!"

And that - that _hurts_. 

Billy's not gonna lie - it really hurts. He knows their relationship isn't great right now, but he really thought they were done with the trust issues. His disappointment must show on his face, or maybe she just spoke too quickly, because Max looks shocked at her own words.

"Great. Glad to know what you're really thinking," Billy deadpans humorlessly.

"That's not- I don't think... shit." 

Max turns around and bends down until she can brace her arms on the countertop and bury her face in them. Billy supposes he's glad she seems to feel bad, but he's not yet ready to feel sorry for her.

“So that’s settled then. I’ll pick you up after detention. Unless my lacking conscience decides to leave you out in the rain after all, who knows.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. 

"Why do you always have to be such an asshole?!" Max all but screams and in one fluent, furious movement that Billy honestly did not see coming, she wipes the closest kitchen appliance off the counter.

Billy flinches as their toaster slams onto the tiles with a loud and ugly crash. A few plastic parts break off on impact and skip away across the floor. 

Holy shit.

The angry tears must've already been collecting in Max's eyes, but as she stares at their broken toaster in shock, they spill over.

"Max-" Billy starts, but she's running out before he even makes it to his feet.

He’s doing just fucking peachy at all of this, can you tell?

\---

If anyone would bother to ask Billy how he’s currently doing at life, he would say: Moving from one low point to the next with as much dignity as possible, thanks. 

Today’s new low happens like this: After school, Billy has an hour to kill before it’s time to pick up his little sister (who has not spoken a single word to him since last night) from detention. That alone is sad enough, but Billy doesn’t spend said hour smoking behind the gym or buying booze in that one shop that doesn’t check ID or getting off with his boyfriend. No, instead he goes _grocery shopping_ with his boyfriend, because they’re out of Froot Loops, which is how he ends up in the cereal aisle at Bradley’s, listening to Steve Harrington lecture him on unhealthy breakfast items. 

“Harrington, I really don’t give a fuck about how much sugar is in here,” Billy shakes the box in Steve’s face. “All I know is that Max is already not talking to me, and it’s not gonna get any better if she doesn’t get her stupid Froot Loops tomorrow morning.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “I was only suggesting that you guys might wanna try something a little more nutritious, that’s all. Breakfast-“

“I swear to god, if you tell me breakfast is the most important meal of the day, I will rip your pretty head off.”

“You really gotta calm down, ba-…Hargrove,” Steve says evenly, eyes on an old lady tattering past, “It’s only been one night, Max is gonna come around. She’ll be back to arguing with you about… breathing, or god knows what, in no time.”

“Is it pathetic that I kinda wish she would? Argue with me about breathing, I mean.”

Steve pulls a face like, _sorry but yeah, definitely_.

With a heartfelt sigh, Billy chucks two boxes of Froot Loops into the basket on Steve’s arm. “I know. I can handle her bitching just fine, y’know. I _can_ ,” he repeats, when Steve raises a doubtful eyebrow, “But when she ignores me, it just rubs me the wrong way. It…”

“It reminds you of before, yeah, I know,” Steve finishes and starts pulling him into the next aisle. “I’ve told you before, I can come help you talk to her anytime, if you want me to. Dunno if it would actually help… but Dustin made me mediate between Max and Mike that one time, remember, when they were just about ready to kill each other? Took a lot of screaming, but now they’re fine… ish.”

God, does Billy remember. The second week of February, he just about had to stop Max from committing homicide, and to this day he doesn’t know what exactly they were even fighting about.

“I don’t think I’ve sunk that low just yet, thanks,” Billy mumbles. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches Steve’s face falling and immediately feels bad. He checks for any watchful eyes nearby, then catches Steve by the wrist as subtly as possible.

“But I appreciate the offer,” he says seriously and gives Steve a smile that he hopes says, _I would kiss you if we weren’t in public_. “And if I don’t wise up anytime soon, I’ll definitely come back to it.”

As they head for the check-out, Steve snorts. “I’ll be expecting your call then, shall I?”

“Ha, _ha_.”

“Uh, by the way, can we drop by Melvald’s real quick?” Billy asks five minutes later, as he pulls out of the parking lot at Bradley’s.

Unexpectedly, Steve’s face lights up. “Are you going to talk to Joyce about Max? That’s a great idea!”

Billy blinks at him, unimpressed. “I need a new toaster. What, you’re that desperate to get rid of me and my stupid problems, Harrington?”

“That is not it! That is so not it! You know that I love it when you talk to me about your problems, but I’ve told you before, I am just no expert on young teenage girls and their… Jesus fuck, stop _laughing_.”

Billy grins at him widely, tongue between his teeth, and Steve rolls his eyes. It’s just too easy to yank his chain.

“Fuck off. Why d’you need a new toaster anyways? Yours blow?”

“No, didn’t I mention? Max threw it on the floor last night so now it’s kinda broken.”

“What?!”

Mrs. Byers, who insists Billy call her Joyce and sits behind the till at Melvald’s rather boredly when they walk in, is delighted to see them. She makes small-talk with Steve up front while Billy grabs the least expensive toaster they’ve got, and when he comes back to get rung up, it takes her all of two minutes to get the whole story out of him. It starts with “What happened to the old one?” and ends with “ _Aww, sweetie_.”

Steve leans heavily on the counter and fixes poor Joyce with a beseeching look. “He needs _help_.”

Some boyfriend that guy is. Billy glares at him.

Joyce, however, just waves him off. “Nonsense. Billy’s got this, don’t you, sweetie?”

What do you say to this? _No Ma’am, I’ve in fact no idea what I’m doing_?

But she isn’t done yet: “He knows that he and Max are gonna be just fine, and that he can always talk to Max when it gets too bad. He knows that she’ll always come through for him when it really matters, because that’s what family does. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

Billy swallows heavily, but Joyce doesn’t seem to expect an answer, she just pats both their hands with a small smile and shoos them out.

Billy drops Steve off at Casa Harrington before heading back to the school. Detention doesn’t finish for another ten minutes, so Billy resigns himself to waiting in his car and hoping that Max has calmed down by now. The heavy rain that’s been coming down all day is pelting against the windshield. 

He puts the new toaster in the passenger seat where Max won’t be able to miss it, because Billy might want her stop ignoring him, but that doesn’t mean she not still a colossal brat. Billy pulls the key from the ignition and starts rotating them around his fingers as he waits. His eyes wander across the mostly deserted parking lot, bored, until he sees somebody move over at the far end of the lot. 

It’s a man, about his size, with a dirty brown jacket and a huge black umbrella. He’s walking between two cars, his back to Billy, and the rain is obscuring his vision. But that haircut… that haircut looks exactly like… like-

Billy feels his entire body go numb. His keys tumble form his slack hands and he forgets how to breathe. 

This cannot be happening. 

He- he’s got a restraining order, they’re only a month from the trial, this _cannot_ be happening. Max is going to be here any minute, if she sees him… if he sees _her_ -

The man turns. 

It’s not Neil. 

With the force of a punch to the gut, feeling returns to Billy’s body. He sucks in a breath as his heart hammers away in his chest and his hands close around the steering wheel in a vice-like grip. The sudden rush of adrenalin leaves his mind feeling dizzy and kind of fogged up.

The passenger door is ripped open. 

Vaguely, he registers Max huffing in annoyance as she chucks the toaster into the backseat and takes her seat, arms crossed, face turned away. He knows he’s supposed to drive them home now, but his hands seem to be frozen to the steering wheel. They won’t move. Nothing will.

Max loses her patience within seconds.

“Are you gonna start driving anytime soon?” she snaps, head whipping around furiously to face him.

Billy might be relieved to hear her voice, but it’s dim beneath the heavy weight of _something_ on his lungs.

“Hey!” Max bellows directly into his ear and he flinches magnificently. Max stares. “Okay, you’re starting to freak me out. What the fuck is wrong with you? Is this some sort of punishment for yesterday? I’ll pay for the stupid toaster, alright? _Jeez_.”

Billy is glad to note that he has regained enough control over his body to shake his head at her words. He can explain himself – everything’s fine.

“Neil,” is all he manages to croak out and Max snaps to attention immediately, head whipping around as she searches their surroundings.

“Where?” she asks, her voice hard, “Billy, _where_?”

Weakly, Billy detaches one hand from the steering wheel and points. He feels Max sag in relief next to him. 

Billy half expects her to shout at him for being stupid, but she’s calm when she says, “That’s not Neil, Billy. That’s just some random guy.”

“I… know… but.”

“But he looked like Neil for a moment?” Max guesses, eyes on the guys back as he gets into an old Ford. He drives off, and Billy’s hands slide down the wheel into his lap. He nods. 

His breathing is still off, but it’s fine. The guy’s gone and it wasn’t Neil. He’s got everything under control.

“Okay,” Max says, still calm. 

She doesn’t sound angry. She doesn’t even sound annoyed, which is weird, because she gets annoyed by everything and they’ve been loitering in front of the school for way longer than necessary now, when they could already be on their way home, and Max probably hasn’t had lunch yet, just because Billy’s being so unbelievably stupid and maybe he’s got _nothing_ under control and… and-

“Hey, dickhead.” Max’s voice cuts through the fog in his head. “You’re hyperventilating. Billy, hey, look at me. Look at me.”

Billy looks. 

Max is kneeling sideways in her seat, leaning towards him, eyes full of concern. 

“It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be fine, but I need you to breathe with me, alright?” She puts one of her small hands on Billy’s chest, which, he now realizes, is rising and falling at an alarming speed. “In and out, big guy, come on. You can do it. In and out.”

Billy stares at a weirdly curled lock of hair at Max’s temple and tries to match her exaggerated breathing as she keeps talking him through it. 

Vaguely, he recognizes that he was on the brink of blind, uncontrollable panic and he didn’t even notice. Jesus Christ.

“In… and out…” he mumbles along with her after a minute. The fog is starting to clear up.

Max nods in encouragement. “In and out, that’s right. Just a little slower… there we go. God job.”

After another minute, Billy is sweaty and shivering, but he’s come back to himself. He tips his head back and groans. Holy. Fucking. Shit. 

Max gives his chest a final pat before pulling her hand away and sinking back into her seat.

“Well, that wasn’t fun,” she comments after a beat.

Billy feels heat rising in his cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid. I think that was a panic attack. Dustin had one, once. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’m fine. Sorry.”

Billy fumbles for his keys that he must’ve dropped sometime between catching sight of the Neil lookalike and making a fool out of himself in front of his little sister. He doesn’t remember dropping them. But there they are, stuck between his thigh and the seat.

“Hey, no,” Max says, covering the ignition with her hand. “Not yet, okay? I don’t wanna drive in a car with someone who’s still shaking. Let’s just hang out here for a couple more minutes, alright? There’s no rush.”

He doesn’t bother arguing. 

While Billy focuses on trying not to think, Max turns the radio on and puts her feet up on the dashboard. Billy is too worn out to tell her to knock it off and figures that after handling this shitshow just now, she deserves a bit of leniency. He closes his eyes and focuses on the sounds of REO Speedwagon’s _Can’t Fight this Feeling_ , the rain drumming against the windows, and Max rummaging through her bag. 

Just as the song comes to a close and some DJ starts chattering about Top 100 charts, Billy feels something poke his shoulder. He blinks his eyes open. Max is holding her half-full bottle of water out to him.

“Want some? You look… wilted,” she says, which, thanks a lot. 

“You’re not drinking enough,” Billy grumbles.

Max gapes at him. “My god, when did you become such a worrywart?! If somebody told me, like, a half year ago that one day Billy Hargrove would be concerned about my hydration, I would’ve laughed in their face. It’s so _weird_.”

Yeah, well, maybe people _can_ change after all, Billy thinks, but he’s not saying that.

“Sorry to freak you out, pumpkin, but half a bottle of water is just not enough for, what, eight hours of school? Maybe you’re the one that’s actually wilting.”

“I’ll give you wilting!” Max snaps back at once and gives him a look that could, in fact, make any plant wither away. Then, with a resigned shake of her head, she grabs Billy’s right hand and slaps the bottle into the palm of it. “I refilled it after fifth period. Drink up and drive us home, dumbass. I’m fucking starving.”

At home, Billy makes Mac and Cheese and almost burns himself twice. He’s antsy and on edge in the aftershock of thinking he’d have to face his father. 

Max has been sitting at the kitchen table, unwrapping their new toaster and complaining about it’s rather unfortunate khaki coloring (Billy reminds her just who is responsible for the new one in the first place, which shuts her up, if only on that particular topic). By the second time he drops the spatula, Max gets up with a dramatic sigh. She takes her sweet time plugging in the ugly toaster, before hip-checking Billy away from the stove.

“You never get the cheese right, anyways,” she narks. 

Billy rubs a hand over his face. He would like to be done with this day now, please. 

It takes an hour of doing weights and other exercises in the living room, with Max doing homework right next to him on the coffee table, for Billy to feel remotely normal again. All the while, he and Max are arguing with each other.

Billy knows she’s doing it on purpose – she’s the queen of storming off, after all. Any other given day, she’d be doing her homework in her room after having slammed the door shut behind her, and would not come out until 8 p.m. to fight Billy for the TV remote. Today, though, she doesn’t leave him alone for longer than it takes to go to the bathroom. 

And he’s grateful for her badly veiled concern, he is, and he’s damn glad she’s not ignoring him any longer, but it’s just _so exhausting_. He can’t back down, can’t lose his face when Max is fighting him on everything from how to make Mac and Cheese is to whose turn it is to choose what show they watch before bed. 

And Billy’s never saying this out loud to anyone – it’s scary enough that he’s thinking it in the privacy of his own head, he doesn’t know what’s becoming of him – but he just wants a hug. He wants Max to stop bitching around and for her to sit on the sofa next to him, not as far away as possible; he wants her to rub her cheek against his shoulder like she sometimes does and say that they’re a team.

But he doesn’t know how to ask for that without making a fool of himself, or without somehow making Max mad at him yet again. He wants the sweet, fiercely protective Max from New Year’s Eve, who hugged him and claimed him as family, and vowed to protect him from Neil as though her tiny ass could do much about it. 

But as it is, they sit on opposite ends of the sofa, pelt each other with raisins from the trail mix Max has gotten out of the pantry for dessert, and bash each other’s taste in music.

Eventually, Billy’s had enough for one day. He leaves Max on the sofa and gets ready for bed early. Screw it all, you know? Screw broken appliances and pubescent little sisters and abusive-parent-lookalikes and fucking panic attacks. Billy’s done.

Half an hour later, he’s just about to turn off his bedside lamp when there’s a soft knock on his door. After a beat, it creaks open and Max sticks her head in. 

Jesus, what now?

“If you came to tell me again that _Killer Queen_ is better than _I Want to Break Free_ , you can just, like, leave.”

“It _is_. You’re mental, it just is-“

“ _Leave_ -“

“-but that’s not what I came to say,” Max finishes, talking loudly over him. 

She moves her whole body into the room and leans her back against the door, which clicks shut behind her.

Billy is _so_ tired. “Well spit it out then, I want to go to sleep.”

“I’m sorry about last night, alright,” she blurts out, cheeks coloring. “I just lost it.”

_That’s great, now tell me you don’t hate me and come give me a hug_ , Billy thinks, before he can stop himself. Jesus Christ, somebody needs to slap him.

“It’s just a stupid toaster, Max,” he says gruffly.

“I don’t give a shit about the fucking toaster, dumbass,” she snaps, “I didn’t mean what I said about you, but I know it hurt your dumb feelings or whatever, so I’m sorry. Got it?”

Only Max could be this mean while apologizing. Billy gapes a little, stunned, but she plows on. 

“Also, it’s not even ten o’clock and you’re already going to bed, so.” She takes a deep breath. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m exhausted, ‘cause my pain-in-the-ass little sister has been nagging me all fucking day.”

Max doesn’t take the bait. It’s obvious that she’s worried about him, which it’s sweet but also really humiliating. 

“If you’re… Look, you’re not gonna, like, forget how to breathe in your sleep, are you?”

Billy rolls his eyes to cover his embarrassment. “Don’t be stupid, of course not.”

“Okay. Cool,” she says, but she keeps looking at him pensively. “But if… I mean, if you wanna argue a little more about Queen songs, just gimme a shout, alright?”

Billy huffs out a small laugh. Nothing brings people together like a common enemy, isn’t that what Steve said? At least his piece-of-shit dad is good for something.

“Will do,” he says lightly. “Night, brat.”

Max’s lips twitch. “Night, asshole.”


	2. the child within my heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been 9 months. I'm sorry.
> 
> But, you know - *gestures at everything*
> 
> In addition to this super fun pandemic, there was/is also a lot of big stuff going on in my personal life and I had to focus my spare time on trying to stay sane (mediocre success on that front).
> 
> To whoever is reading this, I sincerely hope you are as healthy, safe and emotionally stable as it is possible to be right now.
> 
> As for this chapter, well. Not gonna lie to you, it's a self-indulgent mess. I even had to split it into two parts because it was getting so long and dialogue-heavy. The already non-existing plot is getting away from me, y'all. There's also about 20 tonal shifts in here because I wrote it over the course of like, a year.  
> So, yeah. Consider yourself warned and, uh, enjoy?

“Okay, why are you heading to the Disney section right now?”

Max, who is already halfway to the opposite end of Family Video, turns around mid-walk. “Take a wild guess. I get one more, don’t I?”

It must’ve been a rhetoric question, because Max doesn’t wait for his affirmative but strolls on ahead to the kiddie section where all the Disney movies are stacked up. Billy remains with his feet firmly planted in the horror section. He’s already carrying two boxes of Max’s choosing ( _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ and _The Shining_ , both choices he can sign off on).

“But why Disney? What about, uh-” Billy grabs a random video off the shelf next to him, “Here, _Poltergeist_. We could re-watch _Poltergeist_. You liked that one.”

Max is shaking her head. “It’s for Saturday, I promised El,” she calls over through the mostly deserted store. “I’m catching her up on Disney movies. She never got to watch any as a kid, which is, like, super sad bullshit. But we can’t do it with the boys around. Apparently they’re too cool for Disney.”

She makes distracted air-quotes around the word _cool_ while already browsing her options.

“ _I’m_ too cool for Disney!” Billy blurts out way too loudly, earning unimpressed looks from some kids two shelves over.

Max spares him a heavy glance over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised skeptically. It says _you sure ‘bout that, big guy?_ as clearly as if she’d said it out loud.

Billy chooses this exact moment to give up for today and obediently hands over his wallet when Max snaps her fingers for it on her way to the counter.

It’s Wednesday, going on 6 p.m. now, and Billy’s spent most of the past hour in his car with his sister, arguing and haggling over a truly terrible deal.  
You see, Max had AV club after school today, went home with Lucas after and was supposed to have dinner with his family. Instead, she called Billy to come get her at five, after she and Lucas had gotten into a fight over – of all the stupid things – homework. Which is also what Max and _Billy_ ended up fighting about, because, as it turns out, there is a deadline on an English lit essay that Max has conveniently forgotten to mention. She’s also been putting off writing said essay on a book they’ve been reading in class – not because Max is in any way bad at English lit or essay writing, but because she doesn’t like to be told what to read. And while Billy kind of respects that, it is also infinitely frustrating, because being in charge of Max also means being in charge of her doing her homework. Usually she’s doing just fine on her own, but now she has less than two days left for an essay that is worth 15% of her grade, and who has to fix that? 

Billy.

Billy has to fix it and Billy is _not_ good at fixing stuff.

Except for cars.

Unfortunately, Max very much agrees with him on that front and tried very hard to decline his help, no matter how much she definitely needs it. Which is why Billy ended up making what will go down in history as possibly the worst deal ever.

At this point it is important to know that Susan won’t be coming home this weekend – she is taking part in a 10-day in-service training retreat or something, which will hopefully (eventually) grant her another promotion and more salary. This means that Max’s weekend plans were both very open and also very much up to Billy’s approval. And after losing his patience in the Camaro while Max was bickering away in front of the Sinclair house, Billy has agreed to the following: Max gets to have a sleepover with the nerd-squad at the Wheelers' house on Friday, and then another sleepover with El at _their_ house on Saturday that Billy will have to chaperone (probably in lockdown and armed to the teeth if the chief has any say in it, which he obviously will have, and that’s just another headache coming Billy’s way).

 _And_ Max has bullied him into renting three goddamn movies – one for each of her sleepovers and another for tonight, which is how they ended up at Family Video 15 minutes ‘till closing.

In return for all of that shit, Max has kindly agreed to spend her oh so valuable Thursday afternoon at home with Billy, writing her “stupid goddamn shit-fuck of an essay” (her words, not Billy’s).

The more Billy thinks about it, the more deeply he has to breathe to keep from shoving over some of these shelves. Maybe one would land on Max and crush some fucking sense into her. How in the world did she manage to, essentially, get rewarded for something other children would be grounded for? Billy was there, but he honestly can’t explain it.

The little devil has finished checking out her carefully selected videos and strides past Billy towards the car. She sticks her tongue out at him.

Worst. Deal. _Ever_.

\---

That night, Billy gleefully watches Max alternately screaming her head off and hiding behind her pillow in fear as they watch _The Shining_. Helping her choose back at Family Video, he might’ve told her it was a lot less scary than it actually is.

It makes him feel a lot better about his shitty, literally-no-upsides-for-Billy-deal, but in retrospective he was probably just collecting a helluva lot of bad karma.

\---

The next day after lunch finds Billy and Max exactly where they said they would be, and it sucks just as much as both of them knew it would.

Billy is sitting at the kitchen table, head bent over the instruction sheet for Max’s essay, preemptively drinking his third cup of coffee. Max hasn’t even sat down yet, but is pacing up and down the hallway beyond the kitchen doorway, angrily waving the book in question around and insulting her teacher.

“Mrs. Branson thinks she’s so funny, choosing _Treasure Island_ ,” she complains for the umpteenth time, “ _Oh, children, our protagonist’s name is Jim Hawkins, and we live in Hawkins - what a lovely coincidence!_ As though she hasn’t been choosing that same book and making that same joke for fucking decades.”

Billy gives a non-committal grunt in response. If he speaks now, the words coming out of his mouth probably would not be very nice. Max has obviously read the fucking book (has to have read it with how much she’s complaining about it) and she is way too smart for this to be such a big deal. She’s being stubborn and stupid on purpose and Billy wants nothing more than to smack some goddamn sense into her.

But he can’t.

And he won’t.

Another verbal fight about how dumb Max is being won’t help either, as experience has taught him, because it would just steel her resolve to be stubborn. So, if he wants to get anywhere today, he’ll have to be smart about it and trick Max into turning her useless brain on.

“Maxine, come here and sit your ass down,” Billy calls in a voice that he hopes bodes no argument (ha).

Max childishly stomps into the kitchen, bangs the book onto the table and crosses her arms in front of her chest like a petulant toddler.

“I don’t wanna do this,” she whines.

Billy is questioning all of his life choices right now. _All of them_.

“I don’t fucking care,” he grits out, “Quit being a bitch about it and let me help you.”

They end up arguing. Big surprise.

But, because Billy is way smarter than most people give him credit for, they argue about the book itself. (Never mind that he barely remembers reading it back in middle school; he can spew out enough vague plot lines to make some points. The important part is that it gets Max thinking about the story, because if she wants to hold her own against Billy’s book-talk, she’s gonna have to come up with some actual viewpoints herself.)

“Sure, okay, but in the end, what’s the message?” Max questions, still with the negativity, after Billy tried to go meta-level, “A bunch of greedy men look for their personal pot o’ gold. Some find it, a lot of them die. What’s the lesson this book is trying to teach me?”

“What do you think it wants to teach you?”

Max shrugs listlessly. “Probably something about greed not always getting you what you need, but I don’t think that’s working.”

Billy snaps his fingers and points at her. “See - that, right there, that’s a hypothesis.”

“What?” She pulls a face. “No, that’s me saying I don’t like the book.”

“It’s _critique_ , kiddo.” Well, at least if you squint, but Billy’s gotta go with something, here. He leans forward and taps the instruction sheet. “Nobody said your essay had to be a purely positive take on the book, right? No, it specifically says _discuss_ part of the book that stood out to _you_.”

“So?” Max gripes, clearly not catching on. “That’s just a fancy way of saying she wants me to talk about which part I liked best.”

It’s Billy’s turn to shrug. “That might be what your teacher expects you to do. And what most people would do. Does that sound like Mad Max to you? ‘Cause it really doesn’t, to me.”

Now he’s got her hooked. He can see it in the way her brows unfurrow from _Fuck everything_ and re-furrow to _Wait, I’m thinking_.

Billy’s choosing his next words carefully, drops them faux-carelessly as he spins a pen around his fingers. “We can just take the instructions literally… The part that stood out to you could be a bad part. _Discuss_ means to look at both sides. In this case, what the author was maybe trying to say and then how that worked out for you as the reader.”

“Which, in this case, it didn’t,” Max adds, mirroring Billy’s pen-twirling as she looks down at the paper in front of her.

“Sure,” Billy agrees nonchalantly, as though he isn’t having an internal fucking party at this breakthrough. “Your interpretation, your opinion. Totally legit, as long as you prove your point with some actual passages from the book.”

“Oh, I know just the one,” Max murmurs immediately and mostly to herself. She snatches up her book and begins to thumb through it determinedly. “Wait, just let me find the page…”

Billy almost wants to cry with relief. Instead, he slumps backwards and closes his eyes for a brief moment, before they spend the next hours building an argumentative essay around something he just pulled from thin air.

They finish around eleven.

It’s no master piece, but Billy figures it will at least get her a passing grade.

Max has dozed off with her head on the kitchen table during his last cigarette break, so Billy is picking up all the loose sheets of paper for her. One sticks to Max’s cheek, but she barely stirs when Billy’s lifts her head and pulls it away. He brings them in order and stuffs everything into Max’s folder.

Then, with a lot of uncoordinated shuffling on his part and useless sleepy whines on her part, Billy scoops up Max and carries her to her room over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

She groans when unceremoniously dumped onto her bed, weakly wiggles her arm at Billy like he’s an annoying bug. Billy slaps it away. She sluggishly mumbles something into her pillow that might translate to “I think you broke my brain.”

“You can’t break something that’s not there,” Billy states solemnly.

The insult seems to give her a last bit of energy. Blue eyes open to slits and glare at Billy as Max wraps herself up in her comforter.

“Asshole,” she huffs. “How about: ‘Good job writing a really great essay in just one day, Max.’”

Billy snorts. “Yeah? How about: ‘Thank you so much for helping me write a _last minute_ essay that might just get me a passing grade, Billy.’”

“Hm. How about: ‘I’m sorry I put so much pressure on you and _forced_ you to write--”

“Ha! How about, ‘ _I’m_ sorry you had to waste your whole day with something that was literally none of your business!’”

Max flips him the bird. “HOW ABOUT: ‘But I know you didn’t ask me to and could’ve done it on your own, Max.’”

Billy laughs out loud and drops one of her many spare pillows on her annoying face. “Yeah, you wish, pumpkin. How about: ‘You’re the greatest, most intelligent brother ever, Billy, and I’m so lucky to have you.’”

“Ew, how about _NO_?!”

Still chuckling Billy turns to leave. “Go to sleep, you menace.”

“I’m fucking trying,” Max grumbles and throws the pillow after him.

\---

In a surprise twist, the Worst Deal Ever actually does have one upside for Billy.

Because if _Max_ spends the night at the Wheelers’ and _Susan_ won’t be home for another week... and _Neil_ is kept away by an honest-to-god restraining order… that means Billy has the house to himself. He could do whatever he wanted – nobody would notice or care.

The mere concept is so foreign to Billy that he has trouble realizing what that really means. Until he goes to basketball practice on Friday and sees Steve bouncing around shirtless and sweaty. (He gets so distracted standing there staring, that he gets a basketball to the head. Worth it.)

So, for the first time since they got together (for the first time ever), Billy’s having his boyfriend over to his house.

Everyone’s gone, Steve is incredibly hot, Billy is so very gay and they are having date night _at his house_ and no one can stop them.

It’s like he’s on a fucking trip.

*

Steve, as it turns out when they cook dinner for themselves, is an even worse sous-chef than Max. While he is infinitely less quarrelsome, he’s also a lot more easily distracted (a feat of which Billy takes no advantage of at all).

They make out against the kitchen counter, against the fridge, on top of the kitchen table (Max would throw a fit if she knew) and halfway into the pantry. The chicken is only a little burned, so Billy’s cool with it. Judging by the looks he throws Billy while they eat, Steve’s cool too.

In all honesty, Billy and Steve have long since gotten over trying to conceal how horny they are for each other. It saves them a lot of time, so as soon as they're done washing up (because Steve is still too responsible for his own good), they head right on over to the sofa.

Billy’s lying on top of Steve now, kissing and biting and teasing his way up the other boy’s chest and neck – they’ve both lost their shirts first thing and Billy’s about to lose his pants, too – when his half-closed eyes accidentally land on the recliner.

It just stands there like it always does, to the left of the coffee table, with the old stripy afghan and ugly throw pillow on it. It’s turned slightly towards them, as if somebody scooted it around just a little, to watch the show.

Billy stills.

After some confused shuffling, Steve looks up and follows his eyes. Still staring at the stupid chair, Billy feels Steve’s hands slide from his abs to his face.

“Look, we don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable doing here,” he says lowly, raking his fingers through Billy’s messy hair. “We can go to your room. Or just watch a movie.”

Billy lifts himself up on his arms a little further, so he can properly look at Steve’s face. He smirks down at him. “Trust me, pretty boy, I’m very comfortable.”

Steve raises an eyebrow and significantly looks from Billy to the recliner and back again. “You sure?”

Damn Steve and his… his _thing_ where he always just knows shit Billy’s trying to keep from him.

He takes a breath and forces himself to be honest.

“It’s just-- He always used to sit there. It’s stupid, but I kinda feel like he’s watching me.”

There’s no question about who _he_ is. Steve just lies there all pretty, stroking Billy’s cheek with a single finger and listening. As corny and pathetic all of this is – Billy can’t remember the last time he felt heard like this. Safe like this.

Billy clears his throat, tries to explain himself. “I never thought I’d get to do any of this in his house. Feels like any minute, he’s gonna bust through that door and beat both of us to a pulp. And then I’m gonna regret being this reckless.”

Steve looks on for a couple more seconds, as if to make sure Billy’s done speaking. It’s quite insane.

“I don’t think that’s stupid at all,” he says eventually. “And you’re not being reckless. If anything, you’re brave.”

Scratch that, _Steve’s_ insane. If Billy looks a little lovesick right now, staring down at this incredible human being between his arms – who could possibly blame him?

Steve smirks a little, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to Billy right now.

“Anyway,” he continues, moving his hand from Billy’s face to his biceps, which is starting to strain a little, the longer he hovers over Steve. “I think you’ve been plenty brave for one night. Wanna stop and watch that movie now?”

Nothing would sound more foreign and undesirable than stopping right now.

“Well,” Billy says slowly. “I’m just thinking… That’s not actually his chair anymore, is it?”

“It is not,” Steve agrees solemnly, eyes sparkling.

“And… this is not his house anymore.”

Steve nods, faux-astonished. “That is true.”

“Chances are pretty low _anyone’s_ gonna come busting through that door, aren’t they?”

“ _Very_ low.” Steve’s hands are roaming freely again and start making their way down south.

Billy chuckles, before pulling an apologetic grimace. “But I’m afraid we’re still gonna have to move this to my bedroom.”

“What? Why?” Steve pouts at once, “I don’t wanna move.”

“Because, I could have sex with you right here right now and not give a _fuck_ about whose fucking chair is watching us, but my little sister still lives here and she sits on this sofa every single night and I really don’t think we should-“

“Alright, okay, alright” Steve yelps, abruptly rolling out from under Billy and getting to his feet. “You had me at little sister, Jesus _Christ_. Uh-huh, yeah, we’re definitely moving.”

Billy, having faceplanted into the sofa cushions, muffles his laughter into them. But then Steve slaps his ass and laughing is suddenly the last thing on Billy’s mind.

“Well, watcha waiting for, Hargrove? We’ve got places to be, things to do! Get a move on.”

Billy manages to get his feet under him in record speed. “So _bossy_.”

“Aw, babe, you telling me you don’t like it?” Steve suggests with a big ass grin. Damn, Billy lucked out with this one.

“I’m telling you to stop dawdling.”

“ _Me_?”

They pretty much race each other to the bedroom and spend hours doing things that would’ve literally made Neil Hargrove’s head explode. Billy has never felt more empowered before.

\---

Saturday after lunch (which consists of French toast for Billy and Steve, because they skipped breakfast in favor of, uh, _sleeping in_ ), Billy drops Steve off at his house and swings by Maple Street to relieve the Wheelers of Max.

He then spends the afternoon alternatively studying and working out in his room, while Max does some sort of crafty school project on the kitchen table that involves a lot of angry swearing. Billy couldn’t care less about what she’s working on exactly, but he thinks it’s got to be a model of the planetary system, because every time she comes bitching to him about frayed paintbrushes or un-sticky glue, she throws Styrofoam balls at him. If that’s not enough of a clue: when Billy holds one little sphere hostage under his butt, Max screams at him to return her Neptune or else. ( _Else_ , Billy finds out soon after, basically means her turning into a rabid attack dog and barreling Billy over with everything she’s got in her little body.) 

They get their shit together in time for Chief Hopper to pull up in their driveway and deliver his daughter, approximately in the same manner one would deliver highly confidential contraband in a spy movie.

El hasn’t been allowed on any of the nerd-patrol sleepovers at the Wheelers’ house, on principle. The chief insists on that year-long lockdown for her safety, but everyone knows he just doesn’t want his daughter to spend the night at her boyfriend’s house, no matter how many other smelly nerds are there to ruin the romance.  
So after a lot of pouting and puppy-dog-eyes on El’s part and a lot of relentless debating and guilt-tripping on Max’s part, the chief has finally caved: El gets to have one heavily supervised sleepover with Max.

 _Only_ Max.

Billy has strict instructions to shoot anyone who gets any closer to the house than the sidewalk, and he is pretty sure _anyone_ specifically includes _Mike_. He neglects to mention that he doesn’t own a gun, wouldn’t know how to use it even if he did, and just nods along dutifully to whatever the chief says while the girls roll their eyes in the background.

So that is how Billy eventually finds himself in the middle of his sofa with Max on one side and El on the other, watching _The Fox and the Hound_ on a Saturday night.

Max is lounging sideways with her back against the armrest, legs thrown casually across Billy’s lap, and seems more interested in her customary bowl of popcorn than the movie. El, on the other hand, has been absolutely entranced since the first minute. She is also leaning against Billy’s left arm with her cheek smushed against his shoulder, so there is no way he can excuse himself and escape what can only be described as his own personal twilight zone.

Seriously, he’s not even being dramatic – this situation is just plain weird.

Billy's gotten mostly accustomed to Max being comfortable around him in a, you know, _being a constant nuisance_ kind of way. El, with her equally innocent and badass nature, has been inexplicably fond of him since day one. But the fact that Jim Hopper, Chief of Police and paranoid bastard extraordinaire, trusts him to take care of his precious little girl is honestly mind-boggling. The chief had specifically used the words “I’m trusting you, here, kid.” Sure, they’d been immediately followed by “So you’d better not screw up,” but still.

Susan trusting him with Max, now Hopper trusting him with El… people seem to have forgotten who he is. In all honesty, Billy seems to have forgotten himself, because he knows for a fact that there’s no way in hell he’d let anything bad happen to either of these girls.

When did that happen? When did Billy become someone who genuinely cares about other people’s safety and worries about disappointing random adults? And most importantly – when did he become someone who voluntarily (more or less) sacrifices his weekend in favor of _The Fox and the Hound_??

They’re about two thirds through the movie and Max painfully digs her heels into Billy’s thigh.

“Shut up,” she says.

Excuse her?

“I didn’t fucking say anything.”

“I can literally _hear_ your identity crisis right now. So you’re watching a Disney movie. Get over it.”

In response, Billy blows his cheeks up and exhales deeply. Max begins to chuck kernel at him.

Ruthlessly, Billy rips the bowl away from her, but for poor El’s sake (she probably didn’t really know what she signed up for when she agreed to this, either) Billy postpones all further retribution until after the credits have rolled.

Half an hour later, there’s popcorn all over the floor and feathers stuck in Max’s hair from Billy trying to beat her up with a throw pillow (he regrets nothing). 

They’re currently prowling on opposite ends of the coffee table like boxers in the ring, throwing continuously more ridiculous verbal abuse at each other. El remains cross-legged on the sofa, eyes swiveling back and forth between them like she’s watching a tennis match at least as interesting as _The Fox and the Hound_.

“You look like an angry bull!” Max is taunting with malicious glee, “Is it my red hair? Does it make you angry, big guy?”

“Constantly. _You_ look like a plucked chicken with all those feathers. You’re tiny and annoying enough to be one, too.”

Max laughs. “Oh, oh, you know what else is tiny? Your ego! It’s gotta be positively nonexistent at this point, if you get embarrassed by watching a kids’ movie.”

“That makes no fucking sense!” Billy hurls back, because it really doesn’t, and she is having way too much fun.

“Totally does, you’re just dumb.”

Billy bites back the _no you’re dumb_ , but barely. “You… you have a weird obsession with food! Especially with throwing it at other people! Especially fucking popcorn!”

“Yeah, well, you have a weird obsession with your stupid hair! I could mix a Molotov cocktail out of all the hair products on your dresser. We could probably pay next month’s rent with how much you spent on that shit!”

“Rent? Pumpkin, you know nothing about money. In fact, I think you should head to bed now, you’re clearly starting to lose it.”

“Oh yeah? I distinctly remember you promising the chief you’d get up in time to make us a nutritious and healthy breakfast tomorrow, so maybe you’re the one who should head to bed, eh?” 

That… is unfortunately true. 

Billy has no comeback.

Max face splits into a wide grin that she’s clearly been holding in for a while. She turns to El and mockingly curtsies. 

“And that’s how you win a fight with a guy. I hope you took notes for when Mike starts acting up one day. C’mon now, I got a new Wonder Woman comic you gotta see.”

With that, she pulls a bemusedly smiling El up of the sofa and out of the room.

\---

Steve, like the caring and considerate boyfriend he is, calls in the morning to see if Billy is still alive.

“How’d it go?” he asks before Billy is even done saying good morning, “Any casualties? Collateral damage? Strange, uh, occurrences?”

God, he is so dramatic.

“We lost a pillow,” Billy reports drily.

Steve chuckles nervously. “Oh yeah? How’d that happen? Did it… go flying?”

“No,” Billy says slowly, wondering if Steve has had his coffee yet, “Max was being a nag ‘n I felt like beating her up. But because I’m a _nice guy_ now, I used a pillow instead of my first choice of weapon. Pillow didn’t make it. Max is fine, unfortunately.”

Steve’s laugh sounds more sincere now. “Thrilling tale. Just out of curiosity, your first choice of weapon was…?”

“Big empty bottle of coke.”

“Ah,” Steve laughs some more, “She must’ve really been riling you up, then. El got a real show.”

“You bet she did. I swear, sometimes it feels like Max genuinely enjoys fighting. ‘S like she has a real blast torturing me.”

“Aw, babe,” Steve coos, “That’s really melodramatic.”

Says _he_.

“Harrington, I’m telling you, it’s real fucking work keeping up with her insults and shit. I told you, it is constant and I’m honestly getting tired of it.”

“I must sound like a broken record, but _have you tried talking to her_?"

“I am talking! So is she, talking _back_. And then _poof_ , we’re fighting.”

“What you’re doing is not talking, babe. It’s not even fighting, really. It’s bickering. Squabbling. Arguing for the sake of being right. And maybe that is fun for Max. Like… a battle of wits, kinda. And I know for a fact that sometimes you think it’s fun, too. Like when you’re calling her all these ridiculous pet names that drive her nuts… what was it you called her, Monday at the arcade?”

“Uh, carrot cake,” Billy recalls, grinning to himself. Max threw quite an impressive tantrum, especially after her friends overheard and started referring to her as _our little carrot cake_ , themselves.

“Mh-hmm. So you can’t really blame it all on her. Sadly, bickering is just how you guys communicate.”

“So you’re telling me to suck it up?”

“No. Man, sometimes I feel like you have selective hearing. Look - you’ve reached a point where it’s too much bickering. It bothers you, and that is what you need to talk to Max about. Tell her you want things to be a little less…”

“Exhausting?”

“Hostile.”

“So I’m supposed to let her win. Admit defeat.”

Steve seems lost for words for a couple of beats. “Win what?? How would you be admitting defeat, here?”

“You said it was a battle!”

“Oh, my god. I give up.”

*

Around half nine, Max and El emerge for the first time that morning. Billy makes them pancakes with bananas and blueberries, for which he gets an adorable smile from El and the finger from Max. She hates blueberries. Oops.

The chief’s not coming to get El for another couple hours, she the girls retreat right back into Max’s room after breakfast.

Billy gets some time to himself, which is nice, until it isn’t.

By half past eleven, they’ve been suspiciously quiet for way too long, and Billy gets antsy. 

They could’ve made a run for it, out through the window, and be god knows where by now. It’s not like Max hasn’t done it before. Sure, they don’t really have a reason to leave, and wanting some private girl time to gossip at length is probably legit. But, he’s supposed to take care of them. Protect them. Surely that includes knowing what they’re doing at all times, right?

Billy walks up to Max’s room and stands in front of the door for a minute. He hears no music, no gossiping, no giggling like the night before.

He puts his ear against the wood. There’s a weird, muffled buzzing sound, like white noise from the TV. Except Max doesn’t have a TV in her room. What on earth is she up to now?

Billy knocks, hard and urgent.

“Hey, shitbird, what the hell are you doing?!”

There’s a stifled yelp, the sound of something solid falling to the floor, and Max cursing heavily.

That is _not_ reassuring. Billy rattles the doorknob, but it’s locked.

“What the fuck is going on in there?? Maxine, open the door!”

“Go away, Billy!” Max shrieks, accompanied by hurried shuffling, frantic whispering from El and more cursing.

Billy blinks twice. He doesn’t know what’s going on in there, but if he knows Max, she won’t open this door anytime soon. They’re probably just being idiots, but one of them could be hurt. Bottom line, he needs to get in there, asap.

Three long, determined strides and Billy’s in the bathroom. He grabs one of the many hairpins that Max loves to leave flying around on the faucet and all but sprints back. One practiced twist and the flimsy privacy lock clicks open. Billy bursts into the room like he’s on fire and sees—

Nothing much, to be honest.

The girls are sitting cross-legged on opposite ends of the bed, Max’s radio between them. The room looks like it always does. The only thing out of order is that El, who gazes up at him in astonishment, seems to have a nosebleed.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks flatly.

Max is quickly getting over her surprise. 

"Us? What the hell are _you_ doing?" she exclaims, furiously gesturing towards her door.

 _Acting without thinking it through_ , a little voice that sounds a lot like Steve promptly provides in Billy's mind. It's not helpful.

"I told you a hundred times that I don't want you locking this door."

"Well I've told you a hundred times to go to hell, but you never do that, either!"

"Well, yours is just a suggestion. Mine's a rule. No locked doors."

Before the little devil can clap back, El jumps in with an innocent smile and says, "Max says we make our own rules."

"Yeah, and here's what that leads to," Billy comments dryly, while stepping closer to inspect the damage on her nose. "C'mon, kid, lets get you cleaned up. Chief's gonna have my head if there's even a hair out of place on yours."

Giggling, El obediently follows him to the kitchen, while Max remains quietly facepalming on her bed.

As El wipes her nose with a wet tissue by the sink, Billy digs through the freezer for some ice to put on her nose, just in case she hit it somehow. He ends up with a pack of frozen peas and wraps them in a kitchen towel.

El, now free of blood, is looking at him expectantly. 

He vaguely gestures to her face. "That happen a lot?"

"Sometimes. Do you have a lot of rules?"

"Is that what Max says?"

"Max says you like routines."

"Bullshit. I just think Max and I need some rules when Susan's not here. So no one gets hurt," he explains vaguely. 

It must have sounded ominous as hell but El doesn't seem bothered. Just curious. Billy rolls his eyes. 

"Look, you live with the chief, for Christ’s sake. Doesn't he have rules for you, too?"

El shrugs. "We had some rules. They were stupid. Now we just have one."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Truth and trust."

Huh.

Billy clears his throat awkwardly. 

"Alright." He hands over the wrapped up peas and roughly pats the girl's curly head. "Go on back now, before Max accuses me of kidnapping you or some shit..."

El blinks at the cold package in her hands, before obediently leaving the room.

Truth and trust. That's funny. 

As Billy hovers just beyond the doorway, listening to El's receding footsteps, he wonders if he might still be stuck on _respect and responsibility_. In that case, fuck Neil. But there's probably nothing much to be done about it.

Billy wanders into the hallway.

"Alright?" Max's voice is asking as the door to her room closes behind El.

"Yes. Billy is nice."

What a compliment. Nice Billy feels touched as he sneaks closer to eavesdrop some more.

"Yeah, to _you_. What's that he gave you?"

"Kitchen towel and frozen peas," El says truthfully.

"Oh."

"But I don't think we should eat them."

"...because they're still frozen or because you really don't like peas?"

A moment of silence.

"The second."

\---

Over the next couple of days, Billy and Max begin to notice the downside of a Susan-free weekend: they get virtually no break from each other in between weekdays. 

Billy is stressed beyond words because he has a shitload of tests coming up at school that even he can’t possibly wing all of. Max, on the other hand, is just plain cranky. She won’t come home after school, go to bed at night or get up in the morning without at least half an hour of useless arguing. She’s also still decidedly pissed about him breaking into her room with one of her own hairpins (that part specifically sets her off), no matter how many times Billy tells her it was a one-time thing.

He also runs out of edible things to cook, so they have pizza for dinner three days in a row. One would think that’s every teenager’s dream, but Max gets so sick of it by the third night, she takes a whole pizza pie and throws it against the fridge.

Their ensuing screaming match ends with next door’s old Mrs. Bancroft knocking on their door in horror, demanding whether Neil has returned. That shuts them up pretty quickly.

Billy makes Max clean the fridge and the floor and cooks buttered noodles with broccoli from scratch. They sort-of make up over the fact that neither of them would’ve thought there’d ever come a day they prefer broccoli over pizza. Also, Mrs. Bancroft came armed with a half-opened can of cat food and her left slipper, which was honestly hilarious despite the unfortunate situation.

*

Wednesday afternoon after AV club, Max gets to go to El’s house for two hours and comes back in a rather good mood. Billy has used the quiet to catch up on homework and even made the extra effort to come up with a new chicken and rice recipe. He gets an appreciative nod for it and is about to file the day under _successful_ , when Max goes and ruins it. 

Billy’s just getting the chicken out of the fridge to get dinner started when she squeezes under his arm and digs a tub of strawberry ice cream out of the freezer.

“Hey, shitbird,” he says mildly as she weasels away, “Maybe don’t eat ice cream half an hour before dinner? You’ll just ruin your appetite, or get sick.”

Max sits the tub down on the counter with a heavy bang. She rounds on Billy and goes off so unexpectedly, Billy actually backs away in surprise.

“Don’t lock your door, Max! Be home by seven, Max! Do _all_ the dishes, Max!” she bellows in a venomous, slightly-too-high-pitched and entirely unfair imitation of Billy. “Go to bed at ten p.m., Max! Don’t be late for school, don’t skip class, don’t miss homework, don’t get detention! Don’t leave your skateboard in the hallway because I tripped over it that one time! You – _you_ – keep telling me all of that shit as though you ever bothered to stick to any of it when you were my age! And now you’re going after my ice-cream? _Fuck off_!”

Okay. 

That outburst was really, really uncalled for. Billy was just trying to be considerate, for fuck's sake. He slams the fridge shut a little louder than necessary.

“What the hell, Max! I’m not _going after your ice-cream_ – which I bought, by the way – I was just… speaking! What is wrong with you and those goddamn mood swings—are you on your fucking period or something?”

“That is an asshole question and you know it!” Max snaps, “But guess what – I am! And let me tell you something else: I started my day covered in my own blood. Is that how you want me to end yours?”

It takes Billy a second of mild disgust and confusion before detecting the death-threat.

“Jeez, kid, homicidal much?!”

Max takes a second to get a serving spoon out of the drawer and points it at him as though it’s a knife.

“ _Very_ much. So I’m advising you to leave me and my ice cream the fuck alone!” 

She bangs the drawer shut with her hip and storms from the room.

They later have a very frosty, completely silent dinner, which mainly consists of the following: a perfectly good meal wasted on a _not-that-successful-after-all_ day, Max picking her food apart while steadily turning greener in the face until she pushes her plate away, and Billy stubbornly shoveling down both of their lukewarm dinners while almost busting a vein holding back the _I told you so_.

Only when Max all but runs from the kitchen, clutching her stomach, does he start to feel a little bad for her. This is only, like, the fourth time ever she’s having her period. Billy’s no expert - far from it, really - but he supposes the bleeding and pain and whatnot is bad enough without being stuck in a house with exactly one other, male, gay, unempathetic human being.

Doing what few dishes they used is normally Max’s job, but Billy’s not going to die on that hill tonight. While cleaning up, he can hear Max leaving the bathroom and then locking herself into her room. Chances are she’s not coming out again anytime soon, and will likely try to hurt Billy if he disturbs her.

Still.

Somebody should probably do something to make her feel better. Just so she doesn’t actually go on a killing spree tonight. Billy washes his hands and sighs. 

That _somebody_ is going to end up being him, no matter how much he wishes Susan or Mrs. Byers or even Nancy would pop into existence right next to him and take over. Might as well get it over with right now, Billy decides unenthusiastically, and considers his options. Usually, he would just pile up some Mars Bars and Reese’s Pieces in front of her door, knock, and run for it. But since she was obviously feeling queasy already, more candy probably won’t help. He really only has one other idea.

Ten minutes later, he’s knocking a steady rhythm on his sister’s door.

“Hey, dipshit. Brat. Shitbird. Maxine.”

To Billy’s surprise, Max rips the door open on his fifth knock. 

“What?” she demands.

Billy furrows his eyes. He was fully prepared to walk into the lioness’s den, but Max now sounds less homicidal and more whiny. He holds up his peace offering.

“Hot-water bottle?”

He can almost see Max’s brain trying to recalibrate – she obviously wasn’t expecting him to do something nice after her outburst from earlier.

“Thanks, asshole,” she mutters and listlessly takes it from him. 

She looks sad.

“You okay? You seem…” Billy gestures vaguely at her, trying to convey that her switch from homicidal rage to dejected sadness is worrying him, without having to say it.

“Hormones, Billy. And cramps. I’m fine.”

“Hm. You got some pain killers in there?"

“Of course I do,” she says, like it’s obvious and Billy’s stupid. 

So her usual tone, basically.

“You know, earlier you could have told me you felt shitty and wanted to be left alone without ripping my head off in the process, right?” 

He had to say it, he can’t help himself.

Max closes her eyes. “Okay, goodbye, asshole.”

She closes the door in his face.

Billy rolls his eyes. “Brat!” he calls succinctly and retreats to the living room.

*

For reasons he doesn’t really remember (he might’ve been distracted by big doe eyes and bitten lips and… other stuff), Billy promised Steve not to get wasted during the week anymore. There was some lengthy talk about how he needs to keep his wits together if he wants to both graduate and keep a 14-year-old alive. They get extra wasted on the weekends instead, but today is Wednesday, so Billy is stress-eating his way through a sharing-size bag of M&Ms.

 _Cheers_ is playing on low volume on ABC, but Billy’s not really watching it. His thoughts are randomly wandering around – jumping from how much he wants a beer, to wondering what Steve is up to, to wondering what his _dad_ is up to (bad idea), to that stupid algebra test coming up tomorrow, to worrying about that goddamn trial next month ( _worse_ idea), to thinking about whether anyone would be able to stop Max from throwing punches if it goes badly.

Speaking of Max – Billy wasn’t expecting to see or hear from her again until she’d come crawling out of her room tomorrow morning, but around half ten he can hear her wandering into the kitchen. The unmistakable sounds of their electric kettle tell him she’s probably re-heating her hot-water bottle. 

Billy slumps further into the cushions and prays she’s not already back to _homicidal rage_ and looking for a fight.

A minute later, Max appears in the doorway, the comforter from her bed wrapped around her shoulders like a cape. She inches into the room, eyes purposefully trained on the TV. Her face does some weird grimacing – Billy honestly can’t tell if she is appalled or delighted by the program, or if it’s still cramps – before she slouches over and drops onto the sofa, a distinct three-foot space between them.

“It’s 30 minutes past. You should be in bed,” Billy notes, because he’s stupid like that.

“Fuck off,” Max snaps, pointedly pressing the hot-water bottle to her stomach and glaring deadly daggers at him. 

Alrighty. Billy decides to give her a free pass just this once.

He draws the line at his M&M’s, though, which she makes grabby hands for almost instantaneously, and holds them out of reach despite her growling.

By the next commercial break, Max has settled down, almost vanishing in a comforter-cocoon. A curly-haired women on the screen is advertising some sort of hair product. Billy is pondering how to tell Max to get to bed without making her mad.

To his right, the little devil mumbles something unintelligible.

“Come again?”

Max’s head emerges from the blankets like a turtle from its shell. “I said, I miss my mum,” she repeats.

Oh.

Well.

Billy forcefully swallows down a whole lot of uncomfortable feelings those words stir up inside of him. “She’ll be back in two days.”

“I know, I can count,” Max lets him know in a would-be venomous voice, but he’s not quite feeling it.

Carefully (because the chances of being punched, scratched or even bitten are never quite 0% with Max), Billy reaches out to tug on a strand of fiery-red hair.

“Fuck off,” Max repeats.

“You fuck off,” Billy tells her, but of course she doesn’t. Instead, she starts to lay down on the sofa, which means that she’ll fall asleep here and Billy will end up having to carry her to bed, _again_.

On the upside, she doesn’t kick her feet into his lap like she usually does. She doesn’t put her head on his lap either – thank the lord – but it ends up on a throw pillow _right_ next to his thigh.

Billy breathes out heavily through pursed lips and wishes someone would explain this to him. He wishes someone would put subtitles on Max’s forehead, translating everything she says and does into a language Billy can understand.

He doesn’t know where to put his right arm without somehow touching Max, so he goes back to inhaling M&Ms. Occasionally he drops a red one right in front of Max’s nose, watches her snatch it up and pretends not to notice her tiny sniffles. 

The bag did say sharing size, after all.

\---

Billy doesn’t know what it is exactly, that makes him decide to ask for help.

Maybe it’s the realization that no one is going to put subtitles on Max’s forehead. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s clearly not wising up on his own any time soon, while also getting steadily more tired of everything around him. Maybe it’s the way Max, in her sleep, ever so slightly turned her face into his shoulder when he hauled her to bed last night.  
He only knows that he’s gonna do what he’s gonna do, dignity be damned. 

Billy corners Nancy in the library, where she spends a free period sifting frantically through the Shakespeare section. 

“Hey there, Wheeler,” Billy greets, leaning against the bookshelf next to her in a motion that he hopes conveys nonchalance.

“Hey,” she answers distractedly, before stepping back and throwing her arms up. “Where the hell is it?”

“What are you looking for?” Billy asks, trying to sound helpful.

“The Merchant of Venice,” she says with disdain, “Mrs. Mallone said that no one checked it out, it has to be here!”

Billy eyes the row of books she’s been perusing. Macbeth to Much Ado About Nothing, it’s all there, but no Merchant. He pushes off the shelf and crouches a little to see the lower rows.

“Have you checked the V’s?”

Nancy looks down at him. “Why would I do that?”

“Mrs. Mallone is weirdly italophile. She likes to think the Venice part is more important than the Merchant part.” Billy pulls the book in question free from in between Twelfth Night and Winter’s Tale. “Dumb, but it happens all the time.”

Billy straightens up and Nancy blinks her wide eyes at him as she takes the book. 

“Thanks,” she says, surprised. Billy doesn’t know if she’s surprised that he knows personal information about the school’s librarian, or that Billy’s actually been helpful. 

“You read a lot of Shakespeare?” Nancy asks next, and oh yeah, that’s also something people tend to be surprised by.

“Yes,” Billy says. He’s got no time to be embarrassed about it right now. “But I came here to find you, actually. I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute.”

Finding her book must’ve softened Nancy significantly, because her eyes do narrow in suspicion, but only very slightly. She gives him a nod.

“Right, well, it’s about Max,” Billy jumps right in. No point beating around the bush and making things worse with small talk. “You know how her mom lives in Chicago during the week, because of her new job? We’re on our own and we’re _this_ close to murdering each other. I dunno what happened. Puberty. Hormones. Max is fighting me constantly. It’s driving me crazy.”

“And you’re telling me this because..?”

“Well you were once a fourteen year old girl in full-on puberty murder-mode, weren’t you? I was hoping for some… I thought you could give me some… you know.”

“Some what?” Nancy presses, but there’s something smug and playful in the way she raises her eyebrows, so Billy figures she already knows what he wants.

“Some advice,” he sighs, “On how to handle her.”

Suddenly, the playfulness is gone from Nancy’s face. She eyes him seriously. “First of all: Max doesn’t need to be handled. She’s not a feral animal, she’s a person. Got it?”

Billy suppresses the urge to answer _Yes, ma’am_! Instead, he grins sheepishly.

“Sorry. Poor choice of words. Got it.”

Nancy sighs a little, too. “Okay then. Rule number one.” She turns on her heels and starts walking.

Billy hurries after her. “Rule number one? There are rules? Should I have known about this?”

He’s not sure more rules are gonna fix the Max-problem, since they kind of caused it in the first place.

Nancy barely glances back at him as she purposefully strides through the shelves. “Of course not. I’m just going to tell you what I wish my family had known when I was fourteen.”

That actually makes a whole lot of sense. “Okay, shoot.”

“Rule number one,” Nancy repeats, “Max can blame her actions on her hormones, but you can’t ever do that, especially not to her face.”

“Why? That sounds really unfair. She could use it as an excuse to get away with a whole lotta shit I don’t want her getting away with.”

They arrive at a library table near the back, where Jonathan is sitting with a bunch of books. His head turns a little red when he hears his girlfriend talk about hormones. He nods at Billy in hello and then excuses himself to the toilets. Nancy just keeps talking.

“Because for one thing, it’s insulting. Women are more than their hormones, but men tend to forget that. But mostly because Max knows when she does things for a reason, and when it actually is the hormones. And even if she ever does use it as an excuse – she gets to, because she’s the one who has to deal with the whole shitshow.”

Nancy takes a seat and Billy follows suit, wondering if he should be taking notes.

“Rule number two: If she says something, like, actually bad to you, don’t take it personally. Impulse control is just shit at that age, as you should know. She probably doesn’t mean it, and will probably feel bad about it ten minutes later. Unless you deserved it.”

Great, thanks. Billy rubs the bridge of his nose. Nancy plows on.

“Rule number three: Don’t rile her up on purpose. Some people seem to find it awfully funny to bait and provoke girls until they actually reach the hysterics everybody already attributes to them anyways.”

Billy balks at that. “Rile her up on purpose? I’m not fucking suicidal. I’m already walking on eggshells around her and it does jack shit. She gets mad at everything.”

Well, okay, that first part may not be 100 percent true. But he could definitely be way more annoying, and Max really does get mad no matter what he does, so where’s the difference, really.

Nancy doesn’t look sympathetic, or gullible. “That actually leads me to a final peace of advice: You should not be talking to me about this.”

“Well I’m sorry,” Billy bristles, “’S not like there are a lot of other people I could ask.”

“You just need to ask one person, and that’s Max. Look,” Nancy leans closer and for the first time, there’s a small smile on her face. “I think it’s sweet that you want to get along with your sister. And I get that this is hard on you – not just fighting with Max, but the whole situation with your dad. It sucks. But you and Max are in it together and the only person who really knows what Max thinks – and feels and needs – is Max. So talk to her. She’s not shy, she’ll tell you.”

“That’s what Steve says,” Billy complains and ignores how Nancy’s eyebrow twitches knowingly at the mention of her ex-boyfriend (on that front, ignorance is fucking bliss, people). “But what am I supposed to tell her? ‘Please stop arguing with me on everything, it’s driving me mad?’”

“I think you mean _sad_ , not mad,” Nancy whispers irritatingly and ignores how Billy’s jaw drops in affront. This is why he hates talking to Nancy. “But yeah, basically. That’s how communication works. Judging by how you came to me, you got something that seems to seriously bother you. So that’s what you tell Max, but instead of telling her what she _has_ to do and getting into another fight, you keep in mind everything I just told you. Then maybe you can figure out a solution that works for both of you. Together.”

She’s talking extra slow now, either because she’s making sure Billy understands or because she’s making fun of him. (Who is he kidding – she’s definitely making fun of him. But oddly enough, it still makes sense.)

Billy rubs the back of his neck. “Really think that could work?”

“Of course,” Nancy says, more sincerely. “I’m sure you can at least try.”

With a final smile, she flips open the Merchant of Venice, and Billy considers himself dismissed.

On the way out, he runs into Jonathan again, who’s trudging back from the toilets, looking wary. They share another nod.

“Your girl’s a menace, Byers,” Billy grumbles and the other boy grins.

“Trust me, I know.”

*

That afternoon, Billy and Steve are waiting in front of the arcade for their respective rugrats to be done playing. They’re leaning against the Beemer’s hood, sharing a smoke, and Billy’s just explained his Nancy-approved plan of action (or his communication strategy? His last-ditch effort to save his sanity?). Against all expectations, Steve doesn’t look all that thrilled. 

“No, okay, but basically—basically Nancy said to talk to Max, and do it respectfully. That is what I have been saying!”

“So? Now you can gloat about being right.”

“I’m more interested in why it took _Nancy_ for you to finally agree with me.”

“Harrington, you’re the one who told me to talk to Nancy in the first place, remember?”

“Well, I’m regretting it now,” Steve grumbles.

It is absolutely unfair how cute he is, really. How is Billy expected to keep his wits together like this?

“Aw, pretty boy, don’t be jealous.” He almost pulls Steve in for a kiss before remembering that they’re in public. “You’re still my favorite smart person.”

“I’d better be. But you know, Nancy is way, way smarter than me. In fact, so are you--“

“ _Steve_.”

“What?”

“Shuddup.”

Before Steve can continue his outrageous self-depreciation, the kids come spilling out of the arcade, jostling and shoving each other. Dustin specifically looks discontent under his curly hair and ridiculous hat.

“What’s up, dude?” Steve asks, as three rugrats trudge over, while Mike and Lucas stop to unlock their bikes. 

Magnificently, he sounds like he cares, and by now Billy knows he actually does.

“Don’t mind him,” Max answers with a devious grin, “He’s just being a sore loser, ‘cause he still hasn’t managed to reclaim first place on Dig Dug. In fact, I just broke my own record.”

Billy nods appreciatively and raises his hand for a high-five (ain’t nobody gonna say he’s not being supportive or whatever).

Max gives him a vaguely disgusted look and ignores the hand. 

Oh well. Points for trying.

Steve is visibly torn between congratulating Max and consoling Dustin. He ends up roughly patting both of their heads at the same time. (Dork.)

Then he points to where Mike and Lucas are about to drive off on their bikes. “You dipshits stick to traffic rules, got it? Looking at you, Mike.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lucas says boredly.

“You’re not my mother!” Mike shouts and off they go, purposefully zigzagging down the access road. 

Now both grumbling in annoyance, Steve and Dustin climb into the Beemer. Will, who has rapidly become Billy’s favorite nerd, shares an exasperated look with him before climbing in after them.

“Later, losers!” Max calls obnoxiously and jogs over to the Camaro. “Hey, specific loser who is also my ride – get a move on?”

Billy rolls his eyes so hard he can almost see his brain, knocks on Steve’s window in goodbye and strolls after the specific loser who is also his sister.

That talk he was planning might have to wait another day. Billy definitely needs more time to mentally prepare for it.

\---

On Friday afternoon, after writing a truly terrible algebra test and handing in a less terrible paper on Sylvia Plath in school, Billy falls asleep on the sofa. Max fucking sits on his back, trying to watch TV while eating Froot Loops for lunch, and promptly spills milk all over them when Billy inevitably jerks awake.

They avoid each other after that.

By the time he’s making spaghetti for dinner, Billy still hasn’t had his talk with Max.

Susan’s (finally) coming back tomorrow morning, so now is probably Billy’s last chance.

Just ‘cause, you know, he’s got _very_ low expectations on how this is going to go, so he thinks it’s probably better to get whatever pow-wow’s coming his way over with before Susan’s here to witness it all. Of course, there really would be no harm in waiting until next week, but Billy doesn’t like to sit on things. It’s better to get the bad stuff over with instead of being scared for days on end. Which, by the way, Billy is not. He’s just going to have a civil conversation with his sister. So, he’s skeptical. Apprehensive, maybe. Nervous at the very most. But definitely not scared.

Which is why he doesn’t say anything all through dinner, just wolfs down his spaghetti in a way that causes Max to give him a grossed-out look.

Only when she eventually gets up to put her plate into the sink does Billy finally speak up.

“Hey, Maxie?”

Max pauses for one second to glare at him, before going back to rinsing the dishes. Billy sighs.

“Hey, Max?” he tries again.

“Yes, please?” she answers at once, smiling sweetly.

Billy sighs again. He picks up his plate and comes to stand next to her at the sink, watches as she scrubs away at a pot with quick efficiency.

“I was hoping we could… talk.”

Max puts the pot on the draining board and grabs Billy’s plate from him next. “’Bout what?”

“You know, just… stuff. Important stuff?"

“Is this a Code Red?”

“Is this… what?”

“Are you or anyone else in immediate danger of getting killed, kidnapped, tortured or otherwise seriously harmed?” she clarifies without looking up even once.

Billy blinks. “Um, no?”

Then sorry, I can’t tonight. I’m going over to Lucas’s in a minute.”

“What? Since when?”

Max put the last dish to the side and starts drying her hands. “Since today. We can talk about whatever it is you wanna talk about tomorrow, okay? But remember you said you’d take me to El’s at noon.”

“Whoa, hey, back up,” Billy exclaims, raising his hands to keep her from walking away. “What makes you think it’s okay for you to go see Lucas tonight?”

Max stills. She looks at him with a neutral expression, but Billy can tell that she’s already starting to boil underneath. This going south much faster than anticipated.

“The fact that he asked me and the fact that I want to,” she says, not quite managing to keep the snippiness out of her voice. “Why? Do you have a problem with that?” 

There is both a threat and a challenge in the way she asks that, but Billy is not yet ready to be that easily intimidated by his little sister.

“Not if his parents are there and know you’re coming. Do they?”

“Of course,” Max says, but she says it way too quickly. 

Billy knows she’s lying the second she opens her mouth, and he also knows that Max knows he knows she’s lying. He levels her with an unimpressed look. Max huffs and crosses her arms over her chest defensively.

“Lucas’s parents are taking his sister to some show in Indianapolis,” she says, quickly again, like ripping off a band-aid. “It was kinda last minute so Lucas invited me over. It’s not a big deal.”

“Alright well if you think I’ll let you go to your boyfriend’s house in the middle of the night when his parents aren’t home, you’re off your rocker. Sorry, pumpkin, there’s no way that’s happening.”

Billy is putting his foot down, here, because Max has apparently lost her mind, while at the same time privately hoping that he’s amassed enough authority to pull it off.

Max’s jaw drops with affront, her eyebrows raise. Billy makes himself as tall as he can and looks down his nose at her, but it doesn’t look like she’s backing down. Quite on the contrary – she closes her mouth with a snap, gets all up in his face and pokes a finger into his chest, ready to go off on a rant. Honestly, Billy is not even surprised.

“Okay, first off, it’s half past seven, not the middle of the night, you over-dramatic git. Secondly, it’s not like we’re gonna do anything! All we want is to watch a movie without Dustin constantly picking apart every scientifically unrealistic detail. Thirdly, and I don’t know how many times I’ve told you this already – you cannot tell me what to do. I do not need your fucking permission. Got it?! And - and last but not least, you are a fucking _hypocrite_!”

Great, Billy thinks, there’s that word again. 

“Back in Cali, how many times did you sneak out in the _actual_ middle of the night to meet some girl on the beach, or at her place? I bet _her_ parents weren’t at home either, were they? And you definitely weren’t much older than me when that all started, were you?”

“Well that’s fucking irrelevant right now, isn’t it, because this is not about me! It’s about you! Let me tell you a few things about yourself that you just don’t seem to understand, Maxine: You’re barely fourteen years old and there is no way in hell you’re gonna spend the night at your boyfriend’s house getting up to god knows what with no parental supervision!” 

Max grabs the dish towel from beside her on the counter and chucks it at Billy’s chest like a whip. “Are you even listening to a word I’m saying? I’m not spending the night! We’re only going to watch a movie, you godfucking dickhead! I’ll be home by ten! Get a fucking grip, Jesus!”

“There won’t be a need for you to be home by ten, cause you are not going to Lucas’s house tonight, do you understand me?” Billy bellows, “You’re not going anywhere tonight. In fact, you can stop causing a scene and go to your fucking room!”

Max’s eyebrows climb ever higher on her forehead, and for one moment Billy thinks she’s going to explode. 

But to his complete and utter surprise, she turns on the spot and marches out the door. He can hear her stomp down the hallway and the unmistakable sound of her door being ripped open and slammed shut again. 

Billy blinks at the empty room. Wonders may never cease.

He gets maybe three and a half seconds to breathe and estimate the further damage their relationship has just acquired, but then the door goes again. Next thing, Max is storming past the kitchen doorway, with a bag over her shoulder and visibly fuming, and she’s headed for the front door. 

She’s _leaving_.

Billy’s left eyelid twitches. With long, determined strides he goes after her and catches her on the front porch with a hand around her elbow. He can feel himself losing it and it takes all the good intentions he’s got in him to keep himself from physically yanking Max back into the house.

“Maxine,” he says, a low growl in the back of his throat. “I am about to lose my cool with you. Get back inside right this second or I swear to go I’ll ground you for the rest of the month.”

Max is completely still as she regards him with a glare so full of furious fire, Billy can almost feel it scorching his very soul. He expects her to scream the whole neighborhood into oblivion, but her voice is eerily calm when she looks down to where Billy is gripping her arm and says, “Let. Go. Of. Me.”

She sounds a little like she did back in November, when she still hated him. When she was still afraid of him. 

Billy lets her go.

Max kicks up her skateboard and runs down the front lawn to the street. She stops for a second, one foot on the board, and looks to where Billy’s still standing on the porch like an idiot.

“Fuck you, Billy Hargrove,” she says. It carries in the silent evening air.

And then Billy watches his little sister skate down the street on her way to her boyfriend’s empty house. 

Shit.

*

Billy is pacing up and down the kitchen floor as far as the telephone cord will let him, repeatedly clenching and unclenching his jaw. His feelings are stuck somewhere between panic, regret and fury – it’s chaos, so he’s calling the only person who could possibly help with that.

“My parents are here,” Steve whispers when he finally answers, “Give me two minutes, I’ll call you back from my room.”

The line goes dead and it takes all of Billy’s control not to rip the whole phone off the wall. When it dutifully rings again two minutes later, he picks up right away.

“Sorry ‘bout that, babe. What’s up?”

“Max just ran out on me.”

“…Come again?”

It takes Billy about three sentences, which he grits out through his teeth, to sum up the situation. His plea for advice goes unsaid.

Steve seems to sense that Billy’s at the end of his patience. He skips all the sensible feelings-talk and cuts right to the chase.

“Whatever you do, don’t go after her and try to drag her back home. Billy, do you hear me? That is just going to make it worse. You both need to cool off. Try to talk to her again tomorrow.”

“You don’t understand, I can’t just sit around here while she… while she-“

While she _nothing_ , Billy! She’ll be fine. What are you gonna do? You can’t drag her out of the Sinclair house. You can’t stand guard and watch her through the window. You definitely cannot call Hopper on her because she’s not doing anything illegal and the mess would be infinitely bigger than it already is. The only thing you could do is call the Sinclairs’ place and ask her to come back so you can sort it out, but I doubt she’d agree to that. I know it’s hard on you, but you need to let her be. Billy, are you listening to me? _Let her be_. Try again tomorrow.”

Billy is listening. He’s in fact listing very intently, and he doesn’t like what he’s hearing at all. Except for one bit. Steve’s just given him an idea.

He clears his throat. “Thanks, Harrington. I gotta go.”

“What?” Steve blurts, “Go where? Billy, for the love of god, don’t go after her, don’t-“

Billy hangs up.

He grabs his keys and leaves the house.

Ten minutes later he pulls up across from the Sinclair house and kills the engine. The left window on the ground floor is ignited by the flickering light of a TV, showing the silhouette of the back of a sofa with two heads sticking out on top. 

Billy breathes through his nose. He’s not going to go in, even though he wants nothing more than to drag Max out by her ear. Instead, he trains his eyes on the silhouette of her head and leans back to wait.

They don’t move from the sofa except for the occasional trip to the kitchen. There’s always two feet of space between the silhouettes of the two heads, even while they seem to be talking 90% of the time. It’s not hard to guess what, or rather who, they’re so animatedly discussing. Whatever movie they’re semi-watching flickers on while Billy sits in his car listening to the radio and chain-smoking. 

Around 9:45 they start moving again. Billy’s fallen into a boredom-induced stupor and forcibly shakes himself out of it when the front door opens across the street. Max and Lucas hug goodbye on the patio, before Max skips down the front lawn to the street. She waves with one foot already on her skateboard, ready to go and be home by ten. Lucas waves back like a dork and shuts his front door.

Across the street, Billy takes a deep drag of his current cigarette to brace himself and turns the key in the ignition. Over on the side walk, Max looks up, startled by the Camaro’s motor rumbling to life in the silent street.

It’s too far and too dark for Billy too read her expression, but she stops in her tracks, goes still with one foot on the skateboard. She just looks over for a few beats.

Billy watches her back, equally unmoving, watches as she tips her head back slowly to look up to the sky. Billy thinks she’s breathing as deeply as he is. He thinks she’s fighting the urge to either just drive off on her skateboard, or throw said board through his windshield. 

Then, in sudden movements, she kicks up the board and strides over. She doesn’t head for the passenger door, but raps her knuckles against Billy’s window. 

He rolls it down slowly. Now that Max is close, her expression is easily discernible. 

She’s furious.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she hisses. 

Billy takes one last pull of his cigarette and drops it out the window at Max’s feet.

“I’m picking you up,” he says, calmly, but he can feel himself boiling underneath (at her tone, at the look in her eyes, at her _audacity_ ) and knows that Max can feel it too.

“How long have you been out here?” she asks next, through gritted teeth. 

Billy stays silent and that seems to be answer enough. Max’s jaw drops in slow-motion.

“Are you fucking serious?” she exclaims, voice climbing high at the end in her dismay.

“Get in.”

“Wha- no. Hell no!”

“I’m not discussing this with you right now, Maxine. Get in the car.”

“I don’t _fucking_ think so,” Max says scathingly. She drops her skateboard to the floor, prepared to drive off. Billy can’t take it anymore.

“Max,” he says quietly, “please.”

Eyes still narrowed in anger, Max contemplates him for a moment. 

Billy can tell the exact moment she gives in, because her shoulders drop just a little and her nose scrunches up, probably in disgust at herself for caving. She makes a point of stomping around the car and slamming the door. Billy drives off, tires screeching, the second her seatbelt clicks. 

They don’t talk for several minutes, each of them stewing in their anger, tension rising ever higher between them. Billy can feel it crackling between them, like high voltage electricity about to electrocute them. 

Sure enough, just when they turn onto Old Cherry, Max breaks. Slaps her hand against the dashboard and rounds on him in her seat.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“No, what the hell is wrong with _you_ , Max,” Billy retorts immediately, “You can’t just run away like you did and then expect me to be fine with it!”

“Oh my - I did not _run away_ , you overdramatic asshole! I went _out_. I went to watch a movie with my boyfriend! You’re the one who followed me there and sat out front in his car for two hours like a goddamn guard dog or some shit! What did you think was going to happen? Did you think we’d set the house on fire? Throw a party and take drugs? Have sex?”

“Jesus! No!” Billy parks the car haphazardly in their driveway and strides after Max, who barely waited for the car to come to a halt before climbing out and hurrying towards the house. 

“Then _what_?” Max hisses, as she fumbles to unlock the door with her trembling hands. “What? Did you think I wasn’t going to come back? Do you really trust me that little?”

She finally succeeds in throwing the front door open and thunders inside, chucking her bag and skateboard to the side. 

“Shut up, Max, this is not about trust!”

Billy slams the door shut behind them and Max gets loud at once.

“Of course it is!”

“No, no, see, this is about you being a disobedient little brat!”

“WELL I DON’T HAVE TO OBEY YOU!” Max screams, hair flying as she whips her head around to get in Billy’s face. “How many times, Billy?! When are you going to fucking understand that you’re not the boss of me?!”

Billy throws caution into the wind and screams right back. “When are YOU going to understand that you can’t always do what you want to do?! When are you going to understand that there are consequences to your actions?!”

Max actually laughs at that. “Consequences? You wanna talk to me about _consequences_? I don’t know anyone who thinks less about consequences than you do! Especially not when it’s other people, or their feelings, at stake. And why is that? Oh right, ‘cause you’re an egoistic, self-centered asshole. You - are - an - _asshole_ ,” she repeats forcefully. 

She calls him an asshole at least three times a day, but it rarely stings like this.

It must be nice to still be able to forget things so easily, to cling to the comfort of old realities that don’t yet involve abusive parents. Billy wonders what Max would say if he told her exactly what kind of consequences he would’ve faced, had he pulled what she just did at her age, with his dad. He feels his anger grow cold, feels the remnants of his former fury, of the Neil-shaped, psychotic monster stir under his skin. It scares the living daylights out of him.

“Oh yeah?” he goes, fighting to keep his voice steady, “Well I got some news for you, kiddo. So are you. You’re an asshole, too, Max.”

“Great,” Max snaps, but her voice is bruised. “I guess that’s the only thing we’ll ever have in common, huh?”

With that, she turns on her heel and storms off to her room. The door slams hard enough to make Billy flinch. 

If anyone on their street hasn’t heard their screaming, they’ve definitely heard that.

Sure enough, the phone goes off seven minutes later, most of which Billy has spent on a kitchen chair with his head in his hands. He waits a little to see if the ringing will coax Max out of her room, but it doesn’t. He picks up and is not at all surprised to hear Hopper’s gruff voice on the other end.

“Hey, Chief.”

“What’s going on over there, Bill? Do you need me to come down?”

“No, Chief. We’re okay.”

The line is silent for a beat, and Billy knows Hopper doesn’t believe him.

“We got a call from a neighbor of yours,” he explains slowly, “Said that there was some sort of loud fighting going on at your place just now. Apparently she’s been on high alert since Christmas and was worried that your father was back.”

“He’s not.”

The chief is quiet for another few seconds. “So everything’s alright? You guys doing good?”

Billy almost smiles at that question, because he hears it for what it is. “Max is fine. She just locked herself into her room. I didn’t hurt her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It’s not.”

Billy rubs a tired hand over his face. “We just got into a fight, Hop. It got loud. It’s not great, but we’ll manage. You never got into a screaming match with El before?”

Hopper’s answering chuckle is weary. “Sure did. Alright, kid, try to keep it down for the rest of the night. I don’t wanna have to file a noise complaint against you. And, Billy?”

“Chief?”

“Call if it ever gets too bad.”

The line goes dead, but Billy keeps standing there with the phone in his hand and the annoying beeping in his ear. The kitchen is dark and quiet around him. After a moment of thought (or lack thereof), he dials Steve’s number for the second time that evening.

Steve picks up, but he doesn’t say anything. Billy can hear him breathing through the line.

“Hey,” he tries.

“Did you go after her?” Steve asks evenly, right away, and Billy flushes with shame.

“Not… exactly.”

Steve doesn’t say anything while Billy recounts the details of their second fight. The longer he talks, the more he realizes how ridiculous his words sound to his own ears.

After he’s done, Steve sighs deeply.

“So let me get this straight – instead of giving Max time to cool down and trying again tomorrow, you went after her and sat outside Lucas’ house for _hours_ , while she did pretty much exactly what she said she was going to do. Then you forced her to let you take her home, got into a huge and very predictable fight in which she rightfully called you out on your bullshit, and then you called her an asshole. Does that sum it up?”

Billy is pacing up and down the counter, tugging on his hair, not replying. Everything is fucked up and Steve is right again and Billy just wants to be done.

He also kind of wants to point out that _asshole_ is basically Max’s petname for him, so it really shouldn’t be that big of a deal.

Steve sighs again. “Babe, I say this with the utmost affection, but you really need to stop making this worse for yourself.”

At that, Billy loses it a little – approximately for the third time tonight.

“You just – Jesus fuck, you just don’t get it! Do you have any idea what it’s like to constantly be around someone who always fights you on everything? Max never stops complaining and bickering and being a huge pain in my ass. It’s like it’s her goal in life to annoy the living hell out of me – and she’s getting there! I don’t have a second of peace! She’s always on me about something, she takes her every bad mood out on me, and even if she’s not here, I constantly worry about what idiotic things she’s up to with her friends this time! I _just_ got rid of my dad! Things were supposed to be better! She is a goddamn nuisance and I’m fucking tired of being around her!”

There’s silence on the other end of the line once more. 

The sound of a floorboard creaking quietly behind him makes Billy turn his head. He freezes with the receiver pressed to his ear.

Max is standing in the doorway. And she doesn’t look like she just got there.

 _Shit_.

“Are you done?” Steve says finally, sounding pissed. “’Cause with all that complaining, you conveniently forgot the part where you really _do_ want Max around – just not this specific version of her. You just want _Sweet Max_ – you know, like how I prefer Cute Billy to Asshole Billy every now and then? But that’s not how people work. They have layers… Like onions… which you have to peel off -- okay, alright, at this point you should’ve long since cut me off, are you even listening to me?”

Oh, sure, Billy’s listening. Something about onions. Theoretically, Billy has heard every word of Steve’s lecture, but he is honestly not comprehending a single one of them. He’s way to busy panicking.

“Billy?” Steve says in his ear. “Are you still there?”

He makes a small, undefinable sound in reply. 

Max is looking at him, pale-faced and wide-eyed, and he’s looking right back and it feels like there is a divide the size of Grand Canyon opening up between them. There’s no denying it – she must’ve heard almost everything he just said, or she wouldn’t look so… rejected.

On the line, Steve is beginning to sound worried. “What’s going on? Is… is she there? Is Max there?”

“Yeah,” Billy croaks out.

“Did she _hear you_?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, fuck,” Steve breathes out, accurately summing up how Billy’s feeling right now.

He and Max are still staring at each other. Billy has no way to describe the atmosphere in the kitchen right now. He doesn’t understand the communication that’s going on between them, has no idea what’s going on in her head. All he can do is stare at her eyes, which are slowly filling up with tears. He’s lost for words.

“Billy,” Steve says, forcibly calm. “Give her the phone. If you can’t talk to her, let me.”

In slow motion, Billy obeys. He holds the receiver out to Max, who looks at it incomprehensively.

“Steve,” Billy explains quietly, “Wants to talk to you.”

Max starts moving again. She swallows heavily, shakes her head minusculely and reaches for the receiver.

As Max listens to whatever excuse or explanation Steve is coming up with to talk her down, vaguely nodding along and rubbing her face, Billy remains frozen by the counter. He thinks about walking out on her and going for a drive in the Camaro, preferably all the way back to California. Thinks about breaking into Neil’s old liquor cabinet, getting black-out drunk and skipping school tomorrow. Thinks about curling up in a ball and pretending like tonight never happened.

He thinks about apologizing.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Max clears her throat, says, “’Kay, bye, Steve,” and hangs up the phone. 

She wraps her arms around herself before turning to Billy. It’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking, but at least she doesn’t look mad or like she’s about to cry. Billy wills himself to speak.

“Listen, Maxie--“

“I’m fine,” she interrupts at once, but she’s not too harsh about it. “It’s fine. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

She waits for the slight inclination of his head, all the while looking at a place above his right shoulder.

“I’m going to bed. So are you. You’re not going to do anything stupid, got it?”

It does not sound like a question. Billy nods again.

“Okay. Night.”

“Night,” Billy replies automatically. His voice gives out halfway through.

With one last jerky nod of her own, Max turns away and walks out, leaving Billy alone in the dark kitchen once more.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!  
> I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I would be delighted if you dropped a comment and let me know what you thought!


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